The Secret of the Seven Princesses
by Elysian III
Summary: Seven sisters with a secret, a desperate contest to unveil it, and a magic door that leads to more than they'd ever dreamed of.  Loosely based on the Twelve Dancing Princesses...but don't be fooled.  It's not the fairy tale you're used to.
1. Prologue

Author's Note: AT LONG LAST…love has arrived. And I thank God I'm alive. You're just too—wait a minute, this sounds familiar. Hold on, scratch that. Like I was saying…_at long last_, we present to you our wonderful, awesome, original rewritten fairy tale! If you notice, there is no disclaimer because all of these characters are completely OURS. We appreciate all reviews and constructive criticism, but no flamers please, or we will track you down and make you watch _Pride and Prejudice _with Jennifer (trust me, it's worse than it sounds). So, without further ado, we present:

**The Secret of the Seven Princesses**

Prologue:

All fairy tale stories must begin the same way, or else they cannot truly be considered a fairy tale. Cliché as these four words may seem, they are the true beginning to any proper story. Thus we begin with:

_Once upon a time…_

Once upon a time, a sleeping beauty was awakened by true love's first kiss. After spending a century dreaming of the moment she would fall in love, Princess Meleprene opened her eyes to gaze into the face of the man who would hold her heart forever.

Theirs was a whirlwind romance. Their first kiss took place two seconds before their actual introduction. Within three weeks, they were engaged and two months later, they were man and wife.

But King Gustave's and Queen Meleprene's story did not end happily ever after, for no true love story ends immediately after the wedding. Their marriage was filled with joy and laughter, and their love continued to grow with each year that passed—and as each new daughter was placed in her bassinet. There were seven in all, two of whom were twins.

The couple had been married ten years when Meleprene decided to visit her slightly old-fashioned-but-surprisingly-young parents in the kingdom of Elensar, a half-day's journey from their manor in Kyoria. The youngest daughter, Eurielle, was put into the care of her father and eldest sister, Eralie. Meleprene departed with the full intention of returning by nightfall.

But Fate was not kind that day.

Not ten minutes into her journey, the caravan was beset by a ruthless band of plundering marauders. The thieves swiftly slew all three of her guards and all but one attendant, then fell on the lady herself with their wicked daggers. Gathering all valuables, including the horses, they disappeared into the forest without a backward glance, leaving Queen Meleprene for dead.

The surviving attendant had fled for help almost as soon as the attack began. Even so, the sun was already high in the sky, having already dried the puddles of blood lying on the forest floor, before he returned. A distraught King Gustave hoarsely ordered for his unconscious wife to be carried back to the manor.

It was nearly night time before the physician voiced his diagnosis to the gathered family: the queen could not be saved. Tears silently ran down the faces of Eralie and Cliodne, the eldest daughters. The three middle girls—Callia, Thaleia, and Raia—wailed loudly at the top of their lungs, while Petra and Eurielle merely looked to their father in confusion. King Gustave's face was disbelieving, shell-shocked.

Seeing that her father was in no shape to deal with anything, eight-year-old Eralie took charge. One by one, she sent her younger sisters into the sickroom to speak with their mother one last time. As each emerged from their mother's room, Eralie noticed newfound serenity in their faces, and knew that this final glimpse of their mother would prove ever valuable in the ensuing years.

Her father's face was another story. He remained in the sickroom for well over fifteen minutes, and when he came out, his face was even more stricken. Without a word, he stumbled down the hall and disappeared into his study, closing the door behind him with a definitive _click_.

It was Eralie's turn. Before stepping into her mother's room, she turned to Cliodne and murmured softly, "Take the others to our room. I'll be up soon." With that, she opened the door and ventured inside timidly.

The windows were closed ominously, admitting little—if any—light inside. The bed curtains were open, and Queen Meleprene lay prone under the many blankets, her brown eyes drooping lethargically. Her luxurious black hair spanned across the pillows underneath her head. Eralie stepped to the side of the bed and placed her hand inside her mother's much larger one, nearly jumping out of her skin when Meleprene's fingers squeezed her own with a slight but definite pressure. The young girl's eyes were drawn to the red stain on the bedcovers—the only indication of her mother's injury—but flew back to the woman's face when she heard her speak.

"Eralie," Meleprene began softly, "Listen closely, not only to me, but to your sisters, too. It is up to _you_ now to look after them. They'll depend on you now more than ever before. You're their eldest sister; take care of them."

Eralie nodded and looked down at the bedspread, her eyes stinging. Meleprene slid one hand out from under the covers and underneath her daughter's chin, forcing her head up to meet her eyes once more.

"You will have to grow up very quickly, dear, and for this I am sorry. But whatever happens, look after yourself as well. Don't be afraid to ask for help, whether from your father or Cliodne, or someone else entirely. I know that you can't do it all alone, but I also know that _you can do it_. Most of all, please don't lose track of your dreams, for they will be your strength."

Tears were now running freely down the faces of both mother and daughter. Meleprene weakly gathered another breath, setting her hand down once more. Her eyes slid shut as she rasped "I love you, honey. I'm so proud of you."

The room seemed fraught with tension as the once great lady lay back against her pillows. A gasp of air—a single sob—and Lady Meleprene breathed her last.

Eralie squeezed her mother's hand one last time before standing and pressing a single kiss upon her brow. Salty tears stained her cheeks as she walked over to the door and opened it quietly. The look in her eyes told the physician all he needed to know as she closed the door once more.

Shoulders drooping, the eldest daughter climbed the stairs and entered her bedroom. Six pairs of eyes stared soberly back at her from her own bed. She silently plucked Eurielle off the bed, then deposited her on her own lap after sitting in the now-empty spot. Collectively, the seven sisters all leaned towards each other, comforting one another in their time of grief.

In his study downstairs, King Gustave stared, unseeing, at the desk in front of him. His beloved wife…gone. Stolen through the cruel intentions of dishonorable men. His daughters, left without a mother.

The mere thought of his daughters caused him to shoot upright in his chair. He hated the thought that they would be exposed to a world in which mothers were brutally murdered, leaving innocent children behind.

Gustave's fist tightened with determination. From this day forward, his daughters would be protected from any and every form of danger that may come their way. If he had to lock them inside the manor at Kyoria, then so be it. He never wanted them to experience the same fate as their mother. He wished never to endure such an agonizing loss ever again.

Never.


	2. Sanctum Chapter 1

Chapter One

Organized chaos reigned throughout the dining room. With seven growing princesses, such pandemonium was not irregular. Indeed, many of the servants had come to expect that each meal would be a challenge. Unfortunately, not everyone was so accepting of that fact.

King Gustave exasperatedly regarded his daughters under thick red eyebrows. Would they never learn to truly act like ladies, like princesses? Each of the princesses were contributing in some way to the dining room bedlam through a disrespectful lack of table manners; food seemed to fly even from those who weren't actively throwing it, many felt the need to shout across the table to be heard, and none of them seemed to care about using the proper utensils for the main course. If their mother had been alive…but he stopped this painful train of thought.

The spread before the royal family was typical of any dinner at the manor. The table groaned underneath plentiful dishes of roast beef, honeyed ham, boiled potatoes, candied yams, Yorkshire pudding, shepherd's pie, and numerous other delicacies. At the beginning of the meal, the feast had been arranged with as much care as a painter lends to his art. But as the meal progressed, the table began to resemble a pig's trough. Surprisingly, all seven princesses had remained relatively unscathed from the various array of the feast.

Gustave did not expect that to last much longer.

As a chicken wing randomly flew across the table, the king sighed heavily, rolled his eyes and looked to his eldest daughter for reassurance. Eralie, at the very least, knew how to behave with some decorum. She sat to his immediate right of the table, demurely nibbling at her potatoes.

At twenty-two, she was the picture of her mother, with long black hair and a slender frame. Her eyes—though blue instead of brown—held the same dreamy look that told of a wandering mind. Named for the Muse of Love, Eralie emulated her namesake through her romantic tendencies and daydreams. For any normal person, a chickpea flying past her face would have pulled her out of her reveries. But not Eralie. She remained oblivious to the commotion around her.

This blissful ignorance was not shared by Gustave's second eldest daughter, twenty-one-year-old Cliodne. From her place to Gustave's left, she had pushed her plate away as if she no longer had an appetite. Plopping her elbows unceremoniously on the table, she impatiently buried her face in her hands. Her corkscrew curls spilled over her ears like a tawny waterfall, and her hazel eyes glared daggers at her sister Callia through her fingers.

Seemingly innocent, the third princess refused to lift her green eyes from the book she was reading. Gustave had grown tired of telling her not to bring a book to the table, and had long ago decided to quit wasting his breath. Indeed, he had to fight awe as he observed her methodical motions; not once did she look up from the page she was reading, and yet Callia still ate her dinner steadily and without incident. Every so often, a piece of food would fly her way. When it did, the nineteen-year-old would simply fling her own spoonful of victuals with startling accuracy, never once lifting her wavy brown head to look up.

A dollop of shepherd's pie landed near Gustave's wine goblet, causing him to turn a quelling glance to Thaleia, his fourth daughter. The seventeen-year-old's gray eyes sparkled mischievously before dropping in feigned shame. Her dark auburn hair, which had been brushed and shining at the start of dinner, was now mussed in its standard ponytail. If he had to guess, the king would have ventured that most of the mess tonight and in previous nights had been made by his incorrigible tomboy. Even if he didn't wish to voice it aloud, Gustave would wager that besides Callia, Thaleia was the only other girl to hit her target most of the time.

Across the table, the scene could not have been more different. Despite the fact that Thaleia's twin, Raia, was seated opposite her, the girls didn't really have much more in common. Raia's light auburn hair was neatly pulled into a low bun, with wispy tendrils tickling her ears, and her dark blue eyes were focused on her plate in concentration. However, she wasn't eating. The artist of the family, Raia was currently focusing on her latest masterpiece: a towering sculpture of the manor's clock tower, fit to scale, made of corn, mashed potatoes, and green beans. Normally a very docile girl, Raia looked up only for a moment to stare down a dinner roll that had come just a bit too close to the tower for her liking.

As the dinner roll soared past the tower, a quick hand reached out and grabbed it from midair. Before anyone even noticed, Petra had stacked the roll on top of the other four next to her plate. Along with the roll, there were three baked potatoes, two cups of pudding, two goblets of wine, and ten concentric circles of some random vegetable mix. Casting about a quick glance with her brown eyes, sixteen-year-old Petra blew a loose wisp of her chin-length brown locks out of her face before striking out her fork to stab a stray pea off the side of her sister's dish.

"Hey!" Eurielle squealed. The youngest of all the princesses at fifteen, her blue eyes were pulled away from her dumpling-and-spoon cannon as she angrily stared at Petra. She tossed her blonde hair over her shoulder as she turned to face the kleptomaniac sister. "Why do you always do that?"

"Do what?" Petra asked innocently.

"Take my food! And my brush, and all my things!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Petra said coolly, using her own spoon to eat some of her vegetables.

"You do too know what I'm talking about," Eurielle hissed dangerously. Turning her attention back to her cannon, she flung some of her peas at Petra. Unfortunately, she had terrible aim and by some unlucky chance her barrage of peas hit Callia, who in turn believed the peas to come from Thaleia. It was surprising to Thaleia when a mushy plop of mashed potatoes landed in her goblet, but not quite shocking enough to keep her from starting an all-out mini food fight.

Gustave simply rubbed his temples, took a sip of wine, and narrowly avoided being hit by several spoonfuls of now unidentifiable mixtures of food. He knew better than to try and gain control of the situation now; the last time he had attempted to interfere, it had taken several washes before his favorite vest had come clean, and even then it was never the same. He knew that the best thing to do was let them wear themselves out. His plan was working well enough, but no sooner had he thought that the whole thing was over did a whole tomato land squarely on top of Raia's clocktower sculpture.

There was a dead silence in the dining hall as everyone prepared themselves for the aftershock. Raia stared at her ruined work of art, hardly breathing. Realization dawned. She stood up so fast that her chair fell backwards, inhaled deeply, and shouted at the top of her lungs.

"WHO. DID. THAT?"

Everyone was silent. No one was willing to step forth and take the blame. Gustave quickly glanced at all the princesses. Eralie was staring at Raia. Cliodne was glaring at Thaleia. Callia had stopped reading and was now using the book as a shield. Thaleia was gaping across the table at her twin. Petra was busy hoarding another dinner roll. Eurielle hid behind her hands.

Just as Raia gripped the edge of the tablecloth in preparation of ripping it out from under the once-magnificent feast, the sound of a doorknob turning permeated the silence. Within seconds, all of the princesses had situated themselves in a respectful manner. Eurielle silently ate soup from an empty bowl. Petra took a breadstick from Raia's plate and Raia herself solemnly sipped tea from a delicate china cup with her pinky extended. Thaleia nibbled on a piece of fried okra. Callia's book had mysteriously disappeared, and she was currently taking a leisurely sip from her wine goblet. Cliodne tried her best to look preoccupied with buttering a piece of bread. Eralie touched nothing and stared expectantly at the door as Gustave loudly cleared his throat.

The door opened, emitting King Gustave's head steward and right-hand man, Sir Typharius Bionne, formerly of Elensar. His sandy blond hair fell into his face slightly as he bowed, respectfully averting his hazel eyes. The room was silent save for the dull _thud_ of his footsteps as he crossed the room. Gustave rose from his chair and inclined his head in order to hear the whispered words from Sir Bionne.

"The Marquis of Charyn has respectfully requested permission to speak with you in the entrance hall, Your Majesty. Shall I inform him of your incapacity at the moment?"

Gustave glanced down the length of the table at his daughters, all of whom were calmly and innocently eating their suppers. He severely wished that he could escape from the present scene, even to talk with the Marquis of Charyn—a renowned blockhead and scatterbrain. But suppertime was a highly regarded tradition, not only in Kyoria but in the neighboring countries of Elensar and Deturus as well. If it was to become known that he—the king of Kyoria—had neglected to dine with his family, the ramifications would prove disastrous and could even start a war.

King Gustave had no intention of starting a war over something as insignificant as eating dinner.

He nodded wearily, picking up his fork as he sat once again.

Sir Bionne turned to leave the dining room. Before slipping through the door, he cast one glance towards the seven princesses sitting around the table. A smile quirked the corners of his mouth and his eyes sparkled in amusement.

"By the way, m'ladies, you're not fooling anyone."

His exit was accompanied by a loud _thunk_ as Cliodne dropped her fork. Silence filled the room before being broken by Thaleia's trademark snort. Eurielle burst into giggles, her face turning pink. The rest of the sisters soon joined in with the riotous gaiety. Raia gazed wistfully at her damaged creation before succumbing to the merriment.

Gustave sighed heavily and took a sip from his wine goblet as the guffaws, chuckles, giggles, and tinkling laughter of his amused daughters echoed across the mangled feast. Though he couldn't help but smile at their enjoyment, his forehead remained wrinkled in consternation as Gustave considered how best to amend the unacceptable and unladylike behavior of his daughters.

Author's Note: Reviews and constructive critiques are always welcome, but please no flamers!


	3. Sanctum Chapter 2

Author's Note: Just so our lovely but nearly nonexistent reviewers/readers know, this story is already written and we will be making predictable weekly updates. So stay tuned, because the story is starting to get good!

Chapter 2

It always began around the same time, but never in quite the same way. Some nights, the tale would begin with a retrieved slipper and end with the crowning of a peasant boy as king. Other nights, it would start with a family curse and a quest to break it, which included a knight, a dragon, some elves, a bear, and perhaps a dwarf or two. On one occasion, they weaved a tale of lunar travel on a dilapidated log with woodland sprites and a drunken monkey named Momo.

On this particular night—mere days before the summer solstice—the nighttime story was triggered by a toothbrush duel. Eurielle had been quietly brushing her teeth next to Thaleia at the washbasin, minding her own business. Both girls spat and stretched to rinse off their toothbrushes at the exact same moment, resulting in a small, almost imperceptible collision of wood. There was a moment's pause between the two, in which they exchanged knowing glances and a smirk. By the time the rest of the room realized what had happened, the damage had been done and the play set into action.

Thaleia brandished her dripping sword at Eurielle. "You dare to face me after your last defeat, Monsieur Marmalade?"

"Do I really have to have that name _again_?" Eurielle whined, dropping her arm and stomping her foot.

"Very well, Monsieur Marma_duke_," Thaleia corrected. "Did you think merely changing your name would stop me from recognizing your hideous, thieving face?"

And with that, the duel began.

Eralie watched the two girls spar, jumping on cushions and swirling around bed posts as they took turns striking and blocking blows. The rest of the sisters were perched on their beds, laughing uncontrollably and cheering on their respective champion. After a few minutes of intense swordplay, Callia began her customary narration of the imagined scene that her sisters were performing. Her clear voice demanded the attention of the other girls, who quieted their laughter enough to listen to the tale. Thaleia and Eurielle continued their toothbrush spar, albeit silently, in a mimed imitation of Callia's story.

"The sworn enemies circled one another, looks of pure hatred mirrored on each of their faces,"—Eurielle attempted to arrange her smiling face into a look of anger, but merely looked as though she had swallowed a spoonful of Valeria's cold medicine—"when Monsieur Marmaduke exclaimed—"

"You'll never take me alive, Captain Conrad!" Eurielle reacted to her cue, waving her "sword" in the air and nearly braining Raia, who scrambled to a safer place. "For I have captured your identical twin sister, and you never even guessed that I knew you had a twin! Mwah ha ha!"

Callia's eyes gleamed with this unexpected—though not unwelcome—development to her story, despite Cliodne's hiss of disapproval: "They can't be identical, that's impossible!"

Eralie snickered from the place where she sat at her vanity; she had complete faith that Callia would find _some _way to explain the situation when she copied it all down in her writing journal the next morning. This written record was the only reference to the princesses' nighttime tradition of storytelling with a twist, which began after the death of their mother. In the dark year following that unhappy event, Eralie began telling bedtime tales to the little ones to quiet their cries, allowing them to become increasingly involved in the stories by acting out the drama. After becoming bored with acting out classic fairy tales at bedtime—stories such as Beauty and the Beast, Cinderella, Snow White, and Rapunzel—the princesses had long ago started fabricating tales of their own. These stories became increasingly more original, but were kept a complete secret among the sisters, spoken of only in the privacy of their chambers. Eralie knew that if her father were informed of their activities, he would likely forbid them to act in such an 'unbecoming manner' and might even force them to reside in different rooms. Just the thought of being separated from her sisters was enough to silence her, as the relationship between the seven had been very close since the death of their mother. Eralie was not willing to risk the division and possible estrangement, nor was she willing to relinquish a pastime that had brought such comfort and release to her sisters.

Buried in her thoughts, Eralie realized that the room had gotten completely silent, and that all of her sisters were staring at her expectantly. Evidently, she had missed her cue.

Acting quickly, Eralie let out an uncertain cry of distress. Upon seeing the approving looks of her sisters, she quickly raised her hand to her head and fell backwards on the bed in a mock faint.

Apparently satisfied, "Monsieur Marmaduke" and "Captain Conrad" continued their sparring around the room, until at last Monsieur Marmaduke was cornered with his back against the door, Captain Conrad's toothbrush sword an inch from his heaving chest. During their fight, Petra's brown-sheeted bed had been transformed into a pirate ship, complete with a satin "flag" tied to the bedpost. The three remaining princesses who had yet to enter the scene knelt on their knees, waving Eralie's light blue bed sheet between them to signify the waves breaking against the side of the ship.

Monsieur Marmaduke gave a small cackle, pointing his toothbrush sword at Captain Conrad. The Captain instantly went into sword fighting mode, using his own toothbrush sword to parry and spar with Marmaduke atop the pirate ship. The fierce fighting went on for a few moments before Monsieur Marmaduke's toothbrush was smacked out of his fingers and sent flying across the room. Taking advantage of the moment's surprise, Captain Conrad thrust his sword forward, holding the scoundrel at toothbrush point at the neck.

"Release my twin sister, Monsieur, or pay the consequences," Captain Conrad whispered threateningly.

"Which are…?" questioned Monsieur Marmaduke, a sly smile across his face.

At a loss for words, Captain Conrad vaguely searched for a consequence fit for the scurvy dog, but not something too inhumane. "I'll make you… um, you'll have to… er…"

Seeing Captain Conrad's lapse of imagination, Monsieur Marmaduke gave his signature guffaw before balancing on the railing of the ship. With a dashing bow, he cried, "or I shall be forced to walk the plank! But do not think I will make it easier for you, Conrad!" before leaping from the ship to the plank.

Which happened to be Petra's trunk at the foot of her bed. Big mistake. Suddenly, Monsieur Marmaduke was no longer a swashbuckling pirate, but Princess Eurielle of Kyoria, who had just made a stupid and dangerous error.

Petra shot up from where she knelt on the floor, her cold voice cutting through the tense silence that had fallen over the room: "_No one_ touches my trunk."

Petra's trunk was off-limits to anyone who wished to remain on the princess's good side—including her sisters. Eurielle squealed incessant apologies, her words bleeding together into one continuous screech: "_I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry I'msorryI'msorry_!" In her haste to get away from the 'death zone' and perhaps assuage Petra's inevitable tantrum, she toppled head over heels off the trunk, landing in a heap on the floor.

The distance was not nearly far enough for Petra's peace of mind; she took two very threatening steps towards her younger sister, who lost it completely. Using both hands and feet, Eurielle attempted to scoot even further away, but her foot caught on the elaborate throw rug that blanketed the bedroom floor. The rug went one way, Eurielle went the other, and both landed at least three feet away from where they'd originally started.

Eralie jumped from her place, joining Cliodne, Callia, and Raia in a concerned huddle around their baby sister. Eurielle picked herself gingerly up off the floor, waving away their worry.

"Everyone, look at this!"

Thaleia's excited voice drew the attention of her sisters. She and Petra were staring intently at the floor where the rug had once been. The hardwood was a brighter hue than the surrounding area, better preserved underneath the now-absent fabric. At first glance, Eralie could see nothing unusual about the particular group of boards that her sisters were studying so closely.

Petra pointed to one board in particular, running her finger along the side. "Do you see it?"

Only then did Eralie see what had caused such interest: a subtle but distinct difference was apparent in the pattern of a group of five or six planks placed side by side. There was a noticeable outline creating the shape of a square in the wood, where the planks of the square itself were separated by a slightly larger margin than the ones resting alongside one another.

As the princesses all stared at the newfound discovery, the strange floor started changing once again before their eyes. About midway on one of the side planks, a sort of wavering effect was taking place in the air over the boards. Eralie thought it looked like the heat waves she saw coming off the manor roof on very hot days, but when she stretched out her hand to touch it Cliodne stopped her.

"Can't you see it's magic! Don't touch it, you don't know what'll happen."

Eralie shrugged and continued watching. The wavering air started to take on a shape, becoming more solid, more defined. It took on a metallic sheen of gold and hardened into a large circular ring attached to the floorboards. Eralie wasn't sure, but before the ring and door finally stopped changing she was sure it had given off a slight glow. The ring itself was very ornate and, despite its recent appearance, looked quite old and rusty.

All of the princesses stared for a good long while. Finally, Raia emitted a nervous giggle before quickly looking around at her sisters. Eralie simply stared at her. Eurielle blinked a few times, then looked up and addressed everyone in general.

"Did you see that?" she squeaked, her voice tense with excitement.


	4. Sanctum Chapter 3

Chapter Three

"See what?" Callia asked innocently, though Cliodne was sure she had seen her sister roll her eyes.

"The door!" Eurielle said. "It wasn't there, but then it-it was!" Everyone simply stared at Eurielle for a moment. "Well it wasn't…" she trailed off, trying to direct the attention away from herself.

The princesses looked among one another, trying to decide what their next action should be. Eurielle and Raia were watching Eralie, who was staring a little blankly at Petra, who in turn was eyeing the necklace around Callia's neck. Petra's hand began to reach towards the necklace, but she stopped herself before anyone other than Cliodne could see.

"Well, there's nothing to do except to go exploring," Thaleia announced, reaching for the ring to yank open the trapdoor. Cliodne's hand shot out, pushing down on it and forcing it to remain closed. Thaleia glared at her older sister, but in a rushed tone Cliodne addressed all her sisters.

"I'm not saying that we can't go down—" Thaleia's expression softened, "—but Valeria will be here soon to wish us goodnight, and how would we explain a random trapdoor in the middle of our floor with us nowhere to be found?"

"I do see your point," Thaleia agreed. As soon as the words left her mouth, there came a heavy knock on the door. All the princesses whipped around in panic, staring at the entrance to their chambers. As a second knock issued, they sprang into action.

"Just a minute!" Cliodne called out. "Thaleia, Eurielle, cover the trapdoor with the rug. Petra, Raia, and Callia, clean up the evidence. Eralie… just go brush your hair or something."

Everyone quickly did what they were told. Thaleia and Eurielle pulled the rug over the trapdoor, smoothing out the bumps and making sure that it was completely covered. Raia and Callia set about picking up the various props they had been using in the story, stashing the toothbrushes near the wash basin and the light blue sheets in a wardrobe. Petra rushed to her trunk to make sure it wasn't hurt, then retired to her bed to leave the rest of the work to her sisters. Eralie, who nearly always floated around in a dreamlike state, glided over to her bed, pulling the covers up to her waist and watching her sisters scurry about. All the girls ran to their respective beds, throwing back the covers and jumping in as if the floor was about to swallow them whole. Just as Cliodne reached her bed the door started to open and, right as she pulled her covers over herself, Valeria appeared in the room.

"Good evening, m'ladies," Valeria said cheerfully. There was a murmur of "good evenings" heard from the princesses, all of whom (except for Eralie) were slightly out of breath. Valeria walked over to the windows, checking to make sure they were locked and the curtains were drawn. Her job was to keep an eye on the princesses and she took it very seriously. Every night the middle-aged woman would come to the royal chambers to make sure that all was well with her charges.

"Now you ladies must get your rest," she demanded, walking to each of the princesses' beds and extinguishing their candles one by one. "You have a very full day tomorrow. Your father has hired a dress-maker all the way from Deturus to fashion your new ball gowns and it will be a very tiring day after you've been poked and prodded by pins all afternoon." Cliodne had to stifle a giggle when Valeria's back was turned; yes, it would simply be _exhausting_ to stand still all day looking like some frosted party cake.

The chattering woman then proceeded to tuck each of the girls in, even Eralie, who, at twenty-two, was a bit too old to be getting tucked in. As she came to Cliodne's bed, the princess couldn't help but smile. Valeria was a kind woman who had watched over the girls all their lives. She was head of housekeeping in the castle, but after the death of their mother Gustave had requested that she watch after the princesses in addition to her other duties. Though she was not terribly aged, she had an old soul, which made her appear to be beyond her years. She had darkly tanned and leathered skin, a mark of having done much field work in her youth. There were deep worry lines in her forehead above her eyebrows that stood out even when she wasn't frowning, probably the work of chasing after seven growing girls. There were also noticeable laugh lines around her mouth and eyes from watching after the princesses. Whenever there was a scraped elbow or a trouble to be had, Valeria was there, and many a time Cliodne had rushed to her caretaker's arms for a reassuring hug.

As she tucked Cliodne in, she kissed the young woman on top of her many tawny curls. The princess grinned and buried herself into her covers, staring up at the stone ceiling as Valeria finished her rounds. As the last candle was put out, the motherly housekeeper offered one final goodnight wish before securely bolting and locking the door behind her. _As much to keep us in as it's meant to keep others out_, Cliodne thought slightly resentfully.

All was quiet. The light of a full moon could be seen through the sheer curtains, and somewhere outside an owl had started to hoot. While they were waiting, Cliodne took the time to carefully think about the trapdoor.

Fact: it hadn't ever appeared before tonight, because the girls would have found it before then.

Fact: the way it had appeared had been in no way an illusion only her eyes could see, as all seven princesses had witnessed its sudden appearance.

Conclusion: it was the work of magic. Cliodne shivered involuntarily. She hadn't seen magic—real magic—since she was a little girl, when her father still allowed traveling magicians and sorcerers to enter the kingdom. But that had been a long time ago, before her mother had died, and the closest she had come to witnessing magic since then were the court jesters, which was nothing compared to what she had seen tonight.

_So, there's a magic door. Where would it lead?_ She tried to think of all the possible outcomes of going through the door: another room in the castle, perhaps, or somewhere on the grounds. Maybe it led to the fairy lands. Her stomach filled with a nervous excitement as she thought about all Valeria had told her of the fairies. She had once said that fairies inhabited the woods nearby, but Cliodne had never dared check—not that she would have been allowed to anyway. Maybe it led to the forest. She suddenly felt a surge of dread; she had been taught that the forest was the most dangerous place in the realm, full of murderous men and beasts alike. She had never set foot in the woods, and she had no intention of ever going there.

Cliodne was lost deep in her thoughts, trying to figure out all possible situations and outcomes that might arise from opening the trapdoor, which was why she was startled so badly when she heard stirring from across the room.

Petra sat up in bed, pulled a box of matches out from under her pillow, and lit the candle on her bedside table. One by one, the remaining princesses sat up as well, staring at the only source of light in the room, however small. Cliodne looked towards Eurielle's bed, where soft snoring was coming from. Bless her—the poor girl always fell asleep as soon as the lights were out. Eralie went from her bed to wake her, but Raia was the first to say anything.

"That was the closest we've ever come to being caught, I'd say."

"We must take care not to let it happen again. Even though we got away with it this time, we can only catch so many lucky breaks," Cliodne cautioned.

"What about the tra-tra-trapdoor?" Eurielle yawned as Eralie prodded her to get her awake.

"I'd nearly forgotten that," Callia whispered. "I was so nervous about Valeria."

"Well I haven't forgotten!" Thaleia said, throwing back her covers and leaping from her bed.

"Nor have I," agreed Cliodne, sliding out of her bed and walking to the rug. Together, she and Thaleia pulled back the rug and stared at the trapdoor. All of the other girls followed, though no one made a move.

"Maybe we shouldn't go down there?" Raia whispered. Petra cocked an eyebrow at her sister, then looked at Cliodne.

"We really don't know where it goes," Cliodne said logically. "It could simply lead to the outside. Or maybe to the forest… it could be dangerous, so maybe we should wait for the guards to check it before we just jump in—"

"Or maybe," Thaleia cut in. "We should just open it, go in, and poke around for ourselves. Just to explore a little bit…" She gave a half-smile to Cliodne, who couldn't help but return the gesture.

"That sounds like a plan." Cliodne inhaled deeply, reaching out her hand to the ring on the door. She exhaled through pursed lips, as though she was concentrating very hard, before quickly grasping the ring and pulling up on the door.

Cliodne thought that it would have been difficult to open. It was an older-looking door, and there was a keyhole below the ring so she half-expected it to be locked. But the door moved without much effort, swinging open so forcefully that Eurielle had to dive to the side to avoid being hit by it as it landed against the floor. As it opened, a great rush of wind came out, blowing Cliodne's curls back as it came. All was still and quiet after that, though she could swear she felt some sort of tingly sensation moving down her arms. Past the immediate light of the solitary candle, it was pitch black and calm beyond the door.

"Well, let's not just sit around here all night," Thaleia exclaimed. She jumped up and went over to her nightstand, pulling out a lantern from the cupboard section. Most of the girls followed suit, grabbing lanterns and candlesticks from their own bedside tables as they put on their dressing gowns and slippers. Cliodne saw Petra extract a very ornate oil lamp from her trunk and had to grin at her sister's taste for such fine things. From her own table Cliodne took one candle and lit it, then quickly threw on her light ginger dressing gown. Meeting her sisters back at the trapdoor in the center of the room, she addressed them all.

"Listen, we can explore this tunnel under one condition—we leave as soon as this candle burns down. It takes about an hour, so we have that much time to explore."

"But what if it takes longer than an hour to fully explore?" Eralie questioned.

"Then we'll go back tomorrow night, or the night after, or however long it takes. But only one hour." Thaleia rolled her eyes, and Cliodne argued her point. "Just to be safe, should Valeria or anyone come to check on us. Like I said before, it would seem a bit odd if someone were to waltz in and we weren't in our chamber."

"She's right," Petra said, picking up the hem of her nightdress and stepping down the smooth stone staircase. Everyone waited a moment, but then there was a mad rush to be the next one in. Cliodne managed to slip in, and just before she was pushed down the stairs rather roughly by Callia, she glimpsed a plaque on the wall of the tunnel. It looked to be made of pure gold and had some writing on it, but she shrugged it off and kept moving. She could always read it on the return trip.

Even though Cliodne would normally have been affronted at Petra leading the way—after all, Eralie was usually so lost in her daydreams that it was up to Cliodne to take the role as leader—she was glad to be second, for once in her life. Petra had more light to offer, and as Cliodne was behind someone, she could focus on the scenery instead of leading the charge. It was a nice change of pace.

At first the tunnel had been made of soft earth. She could feel the slightly damp grains of the dirt beneath her feet and knew her slippers would never be the same. The floors were simple, deep gray flagstone, and the walls had seemed to be of the same material in a lighter shade. There were rusty brass torch brackets on the wall, and Cliodne made a note to tell Petra to filch some torches to use if they decided to come back again after tonight. There were cobwebs in the corners, but no spiders. There were no windows, no paintings or tapestries, and no decoration of any kind.

She tried picturing all the rooms in the castle in her mind, attempting to figure out where this large tunnel could fit without notice. In fact, it did seem to get wider as they went further. At first all they could manage was a single-file line, but now Cliodne was flanked on her right by Eurielle and on her left by Raia. Thaleia jogged up and managed to squeeze her way past the three so that she could be in front with Petra.

Cliodne hadn't been paying much attention to the walls and floors since she had entered, but she now noticed that they had… changed. They were still the same color, the same dull gray, but they had become smoother, finer. The floor was no longer bumpy and rough, but flat and easy to walk on, almost like marble. Cliodne giggled at the sounds their footsteps made, especially Eralie's, who always seemed to have a heel on her shoe no matter what type of footwear it was. The walls were extremely even as well, and Cliodne found herself moving towards the side of the passageway so she could touch it. It was cool and surprisingly smooth. When the light was brought closer, Cliodne could see tiny flecks of ruby and gold in the stonework. Had they been there before? With a small smile she realized that the tunnel would look magnificent in torchlight, almost like it was aglow on its own. _Whoever crafted this passageway knew their stuff._

Cliodne was so lost in admiration of her surroundings that she almost ran into Petra. She was about to tell her sister off for stopping so suddenly when she looked past the younger girl and saw a door. It was made of dark mahogany with a golden ring handle, similar to the trapdoor. There were ornate carvings in the door and frame, everything from satyrs and fairies to animals that could presumably be found in the forest. Cliodne ran a hand over a carving of a stag and stared. Perhaps it was the exquisitely unique carvings over the door, but she couldn't help but feel that it was the door and what might lie beyond it that made this tunnel so special. She didn't know what lay beyond, but, as her hand pulled on the ring, she was determined to find out.


	5. Sanctum Chapter 4

Chapter Four

A hush fell over the princesses as they filed into the room. They gathered in a tense cluster near the door, though there was plenty of space in which to spread out. The mahogany door had opened to a room of such splendor and span that Callia was rendered momentarily speechless. Her imagination—which had already been working overtime in memorizing the description of the stone tunnel—threatened to burst as she attempted to catalog the new details to add to her journal in the morning.

The princesses' chamber could fit easily within the room, along with the throne room, the royal dining room, and perhaps a broom closet nestled in the corner. Magic seemed to hang in the very air from the moment the first princess stepped onto the plush, off-white carpeting. Callia felt it in her very bones as it wiped away the last vestiges of her fatigue, leaving her as energized as if it were mid-afternoon instead of after midnight. Flames burst into being from the immense golden chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Thin tapered candles were also spaced around the walls, held by golden sconces to provide further illumination for their observation.

Three of the walls were covered in a light lilac fabric that—when Callia drew near enough to touch—turned out to be soft velvet; it shimmered and shone from the effects of the many sources of candlelight. She had never felt anything as soft as the velvet that covered the walls, nor had she ever stepped on any carpet as thick as the one beneath her feet. A dozen purple armchairs stood in a corner, adding to the hominess. It was as if the decorator of this room knew exactly what elements were needed to create a comfortable, yet elegant atmosphere.

Nine different doors, including the one the princesses had entered, stood at intervals around the lilac-colored walls. They were all carved from the same dark mahogany, matching the wooden trim around the bottom of the walls. The wall directly across from the entrance featured a colorful sunset landscape over a platform raised about four feet off the ground.

Her sisters had long since spread out to examine the chamber more closely. Eurielle dashed in and out of the doors along the walls, exclaiming at the top of her lungs to absolutely nobody that seven of them led to medium-sized rooms, while the eighth was blocked by a cave-in. Thaleia practiced falling off of the raised platform. Petra was examining one of the golden sconces, feeling around its base for any sign of weakness. Eralie sat in one of the purple armchairs while Cliodne felt along the velvet wall behind her. Raia stood at the opposite end of the room, admiring the walled landscape.

Callia simply remained where she stood near the doorway, allowing her sisters' excited voices to fade into the background. For a moment, she became lost in admiration of her surroundings, in the play of light off the walls and the beauty of the chandelier. She could tell that it would take several pages in her journal to adequately describe the room before her.

"Girls! Come over here!" Raia's voice finally broke through Callia's reverie. Oddly enough, her voice failed to echo around the cavernous chamber; Callia suspected that the magic hanging in the air absorbed the sound.

Raia excitedly beckoned them over to the colorful fourth wall. Callia could understand her sister's fascination with the beautiful landscape; it was almost like looking out a window onto a vibrant seaside sunset.

The remaining princesses clustered around the platform that Raia stood upon. Callia hefted herself on top to join her sister, taking care not to spill any wax from her diminishing candle. As she approached the landscape, her candle's flame reflected strangely on the wall, and only then did she realize why Raia was so enthralled: the sunset scene was composed of millions of gemstones.

"Wow…" Eralie breathed, approaching on Callia's left to finger the rubied sky.

For the first time since she had entered the room, Callia regained her ability to speak. "This place is amazing," she said. "I've never seen anything like it."

Thaleia spoke up next: "Do you think Father has ever been here?"

"Probably not," said Cliodne logically. "I doubt that he even knows about it. If he had, he never would have allowed us to come here, or even to find it."

The mention of King Gustave caused a momentary pause in the princesses' excitement. They stood in tense silence. Callia ran her hand over the sapphire sea line. She couldn't seem to find the courage to bring up the question that was surely on all of their minds.

Finally, after several awkward moments, Eurielle broke the silence.

"Should we tell Father?"

"No."

Callia was surprised at the rapidity and force in which Eralie answered. She sounded authoritative and commanding, personality traits that Callia hadn't seen since Eurielle had gotten her own chamber maid five years earlier. As soon as her younger sisters were mature enough to care for themselves, the eldest princess had finally been able to drop the responsible persona she'd temporarily adopted after the death of their mother.

Eralie's uncharacteristic leadership seemed to open the door for responses from the remaining princesses. Raia and Thaleia nodded their heads simultaneously like the twins they were. Eurielle couldn't seem to control the smile that broke across her face, and Petra eagerly voiced her opinion: "There can't be any harm in keeping this a secret for just a little while longer, can there?"

As one, six heads turned toward the voice of reason: Princess Cliodne. She seemed to be deep in thought. Callia felt slightly apprehensive upon seeing the look on her older sister's face. On the whole, she agreed with Eralie, as well, but even the majority of the princesses could often be overruled by Cliodne's infuriating yet persuasive logic. Callia held her breath in anticipation of her sister's decision.

"I agree," Cliodne said at last. Callia allowed her smile to grow as Cliodne continued. "I don't see anything dangerous about this place, and I don't think that Father—or anyone else—needs to know. I also have to admit that I'm curious. This is a great mystery, and I really want to figure out what's going on before we tell anyone else. If we tell Father about the trapdoor and this tunnel, he'll just forbid us from coming here again, and then we'll never find out." She punctuated the end of her speech with two quick nods that sent her tawny curls bouncing around her shoulders.

"So we all agree not to tell anyone?" said Callia. She scraped her fingernails excitedly on the mosaic, her hand passing over a sapphire that exactly matched the hue of Eralie's eyes. She could just imagine the stories that could emerge from settings and scenery like the one depicted in the wall mosaic…and if they could continue to return here without detection, so much the better.

"We need to do more than just agree!" Eurielle burst out. "We should make a pact that we will never _ever_ tell!" Callia rolled her eyes at her youngest sister's childishness while Raia said gently: "I don't think that's necessary, dear. None of us are going to tell."

"We should still do it, just to make sure!" said Eurielle insistently. "We'll each promise not to tell a single, solitary soul about the trapdoor…or the passage…or the room. If we do, then the punishment is…" she trailed off uncertainly.

"Death?" Thaleia suggested wryly.

"No...I got it! If anyone tells, then she has to go up to Weston and ask him to pull her finger!" For a long moment, Eurielle was the recipient of some very exasperated and pitying looks.

"That's stupid," said Petra scathingly, causing Eurielle to blush in embarrassment and anger. Callia couldn't help but agree, but had the good grace not to say it aloud.

"It may be stupid!" Eurielle countered hotly. "But tell the truth: would _you_ want to do it?"

She had a point, Callia realized. The idea of playing "Pull My Finger" with her father's tall, stern, no-nonsense butler certainly was a daunting idea. All of the princesses—even daring Thaleia and conscienceless Petra—feared and respected Weston in a way they had never had their father. Though the initial concept was certainly laughable, the execution was likely to be a rather scary and embarrassing prospect.

"Fine," Callia agreed grudgingly. "But let's make this quick; Clio's candle is nearly down to the wick."

Within moments, all seven princesses had repeated the short promise that Eurielle made up on the spot (they simply refused to adhere to her suggestion of making a blood oath). Though Callia would have preferred to stay and explore the chamber more fully, there was no denying that their candles wouldn't last much longer. The lanterns held by Petra, Thaleia, and Eralie would likely endure for another hour, but Callia wasn't keen on the idea of traveling down that long dark tunnel with only three sources of light.

With one last long, lingering look at the room's splendor, she followed Eurielle out of the room, the last to exit. The instant her foot left the off-white carpeting of the chamber, the chandelier and the wall sconces darkened, leaving nothing but a gaping hole of blackness. Callia shivered. She pushed the door shut with a _snap_, then hurried to join her sisters in their procession down the stone tunnel.

As the princesses stepped lightly over the smooth walkway, Callia suddenly felt the fatigue of the late hour anew as the magic's energy left her. The return journey seemed to take ten times longer than before. Her feet felt heavy, and she could suddenly feel every bump in the uneven ground as the tunnel narrowed. Her relief knew no bounds when the ground under her feet began to slant upwards. The stone steps were a sure indication that they were reaching the end of the journey. Finally, ten feet in front of her, Petra pushed open the trapdoor. Callia could see their moonlit bedroom and the outline of Petra's bed through the opening. The thought of her own bed and warm covers beckoned to her; she couldn't wait to climb into its soft depths and lose herself in sleepy oblivion. It wasn't terribly late, but the excitement of the night seemed to have drained her energy.

Eurielle's feet disappeared through the trapdoor, and the princess herself reached back to assist Callia. She passed her candle through and grabbed her sister's helping hand. Suddenly, a flash of gold out of the corner of her eye made her freeze and let go of Eurielle. She turned her head to follow the flash.

"What is it?" Eurielle asked, but Callia ignored the question. Beckoning for her candle back, she moved its light closer to the stone wall of the tunnel, where there hung a gold plaque engraved with strange words:

_Za regas ceze noru zagit nuy dede_

_Dehisu zaru gisni desuh kosul._

_Ehi ede neno, gisni qeeh xazasu,_

_Suh monot dorap suza kol._

_Ge delolo kohilo kotulo nuy vader,_

_Ge fici zasuwa nuy mohi,_

_Dekosus ge fidedan mofidez,_

_Ge nonomo kohilo zavasuy hino._

_Mod ehi nuy seru ruzatu higis nonoru,_

_Tunoru qutuse desud daf detu,_

_Tutu delufi zagitu nohigur kol tunoru tuno,_

_Desuh kose nuy monot fiqute._

_Nos mosureg dexas higis nonomo desutuc_

_Ge suze suh kohilo dorap._

_Notu za tunolo kohilo mohid suh_

_Tutu beme moh unee zasur._

_Degino hirede, ge mosug nuy mohid_

_Gisni desuh kosul rututu zasuy._

_Komo nesuh hihice nuy higin moh_

_Zaya des ge fituh emo zayad._

_Za ehitu deva zatuno tunoru zaqeceno qudeh:_

_Za loti uree mone._

_Tutu hisut mec qe daderum:_

_Qeeh ceder mosu me._

_Mod tunohigi nuy zaya daf odetu_

_Nos sure ruzatu tunoru mode,_

_Hisu sunia zagit deruh ruhi_

_Nom zayaw tulo dure zeve zani,_

_Noru dedede higis qunode ue unei nuy,_

_Jozet zatur nos zagit ue hizad._

_Iyo tunoru lohet heloh nuy zaya,_

_Tutu zavere, rudetu nuy daf zadede._

"It looks like a poem," mused Callia in answer to her sisters' questioning stares. "But it's written in a different language, so I can't read what it says."

"What if it's important?" Thaleia asked.

"I'm sure there must be a book in the library that can translate it," Callia answered. "I can see if I can figure it out and…" her words were interrupted by a yawn that she couldn't suppress.

"But it can wait for tomorrow. We're all tired, so we'd better get to bed," said Cliodne firmly, joining Eurielle in helping Callia climb out of the hole. As soon as all of the princesses were safely in the chamber, Raia grabbed the edge of the trapdoor and began to ease it shut. A sudden gust of inexplicable wind blew through the room. It pulled the trapdoor from her grasp and closed it with a soft sucking noise.

Callia shivered as the breeze swept over her body, blowing long tendrils of brown hair free from her customary braid. She didn't know whether the shudder was due to the momentary chill of the wind or the aftereffects of witnessing another obviously magical act.

She chose not to dwell on the matter, however, as another yawn took her breath away. The princesses scattered about the room as each headed to her respective bed. Callia climbed sleepily into her bed, slipping between the mint green covers. The lanterns and candles were extinguished, and Eurielle's soft snores soon could be heard once again. For a moment, Callia again felt the euphoria of the night's discovery running through her veins before drifting into sleep herself.

She had rarely experienced a dreamless sleep before, but her excited exhaustion simply could not be denied this night. She awoke shortly after sunrise the next morning feeling thoroughly awake and just as excited as she'd been when she'd fallen asleep. Most of her sisters were still sleeping peacefully; only Eralie's and Raia's beds were empty. Both princesses were the early risers of the group, often choosing to rise well before dawn. Eralie could usually be found strolling around the royal garden, admiring the sunrise, while Raia preferred to perch on one of the palace's many balconies with a sketchbook and watercolor paints.

Callia dressed quietly in a simple dress of emerald green, plaited her hair, then grabbed her leather-bound journal from the nightstand and crept from the room. She made her way to the library, enjoying the stillness of the early morning. The grounds outside were covered with mist. A chickadee chirped outside the window; its call was answered a moment later by another bird Callia couldn't recognize.

She descended a staircase, pushed open a pair of thick oak doors, and stepped into the familiar, welcoming ambiance of the manor library. Bookshelves spanned the length of the sizable room, reaching from the peak of the arched ceiling to the slightly faded blue carpet. The room held around ten thousand books, many of which Callia had read countless times.

She weaved her way around the two leather armchairs in the center of the room to the only wall that wasn't filled with books. Instead, the center half of the wall was covered by a thick maroon curtain. Callia pulled the drapery back to reveal her secret haven: a bay window with a cushioned bench. She doubted whether anyone else appreciated the privacy this seat granted. With the window overlooking the lake and the curtain drawn around it, it was as if she was the only person in the world. In short, it was the ideal place for a princess to spend hours writing in her journal.

Callia settled comfortably into her alcove, tucking her slippered feet beneath her. She opened her journal to a fresh page, dipped her quill in an ink bottle, and debated where to begin. _What should I write about first? Last night's story? Or there's the story I sent in; the man at the paper said it should be out sometime this week. Maybe I should start with the tunnel and the chamber instead. Oh, I can't forget to look for a book to translate that poem…_

She was startled out of her thoughts by the sound of the library door opening. She held her breath, hoping that whoever had entered would simply take what he needed and leave her to her writing. Her hopes intensified when it was her father's voice that broke the stillness, though he wasn't talking to her.

"Just put the tray on that table there, Weston. And see about getting a fire started; it's a bit drafty." Callia's heart sank. It sounded as if he planned to stay for a while. On the positive side, he hadn't noticed that she was in the room.

She could hear Weston's attempts to start a fire in the grate, while the sounds of rustling paper led her to suspect that King Gustave had settled in one of the armchairs with the day's newspaper. As usual, he held a mostly one-sided conversation with Weston over the articles he read in the paper. The butler's responses were minimal and noncommittal.

Callia's hand started to cramp from holding her quill suspended over her open journal, but she dared not move. Writing was a very private pastime for her, and she had no desire to interrupt her creativity with a mundane conversation with her father.

"…this newspaper just isn't the same as it was when I was a boy, Weston. The changes they're making! It's starting to get ridiculous."

"Of course, sir."

"They've even included an advice column! Like people don't have problems of their own, now they have to read about the problems of others?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"And look at this! They've got a piece written by a woman! 'An original short story by Miss Allica Laerie.'"

Upon hearing this name, Callia sat up straighter, momentarily forgetting her desire to remain undetected. Luckily, Weston's fire-building efforts masked the sounds of her slight movement. King Gustave remained oblivious as he continued.

"…come up with next? I would never allow any of _my_ daughters to step out of their place in such a way. Although I do have to admit, Thaleia certainly does not act as a proper young lady should. Nor does Petra, for that matter, although I don't know what I could do about her thefts; it's not as if she's stealing anything valuable that I know of. And Callia! I don't think I've seen her without a book in her hand since her moth…since she was little. It's not fitting for a woman of her station to appear to be so educated." Callia felt tears prick her eyelids, but Gustave wasn't through yet.

"Just don't let any of them see this 'Allica Laerie' rubbish, or they'll start getting more dangerous ideas. That's the last thing we need around here, Weston…"

"Certainly, sire. Shall I take your tray?"

"Yes, thank you. Go ahead and take this paper, as well; I won't be needing it any longer." Callia heard Weston's muffled footsteps retreating from the room. She no longer needed to work to remain quiet; she didn't think she could speak or move even if she wanted to. In a daze, Callia heard her father exit the library and decided to chance her escape; she no longer felt in the mood to write.

The fire crackled merrily in contrast to her dampened mood. King Gustave's house slippers rested on the floor in front of the armchair. She guessed that he had only stepped out for a moment and would be back soon, by which time she would prefer to be long gone.

Somehow—though she couldn't remember how—Callia made it back to the princesses' chamber. It looked almost exactly as she'd left it half an hour earlier, except that Petra had since vacated her bed. Callia dropped her journal unceremoniously on the floor. She settled between her sheets again, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. Her green eyes stared unseeingly ahead.

Callia had always suspected that her father didn't approve of his daughters' activities, but she had never expected to hear him admit it so blatantly. Indeed, she had assumed that Gustave's desire for the princesses' happiness outweighed his disapproval of their choices. It shocked her to the core to discover that the realization of her dream would only come at the price of her father's censure. Of course, he had had no way of knowing that it was his own daughter's story that he was criticizing in the newspaper, but his words hurt all the same.

Salty tears trickled down her smooth cheeks. Her shoulders shook with the effort of suppressing her sobs. Usually when she was upset like this, writing in her journal or inventing a story was the perfect solution. Now, she wasn't sure whether she would ever feel like writing again.

"Callia?"

Eralie's quiet voice broke through her reverie. Callia had been so immersed in her painful thoughts that she'd failed to notice her older sister's entrance. But there she stood at the foot of her bed, regarding Callia with a concerned look on her face. She was suddenly aware that her eyes must appear puffy and over-bright from her bout of crying.

"What's the matter?" Eralie drew nearer, perching on the side of the bed and laying a hand on Callia's heaving shoulder. Her comforting touch unleashed Callia's fragile emotions, causing her to blurt out the entire story.

It didn't take long for all six of her sisters to gather around to listen. Raia returned to the room with a sketchbook in hand, Petra from wherever it was she had disappeared to (she stopped by her trunk to place something inside before joining the others). Eurielle, Thaleia, and Cliodne were still in their nightgowns.

The room fell silent following Callia's story. She took long, shuddering breaths as she attempted to regain control of herself, fully aware of the tension that permeated the room.

"Father said that?" Thaleia asked, her voice quieter than Callia had ever heard it before. She nodded in response.

"He's ashamed of us. He's ashamed of all of us."

"Why should he be?" Eurielle said indignantly. "Why should any of us be ashamed of who we are or what we like to do?"

"That's easy for you to say," said Petra, but without any of her usual impatience. "What does Father care if you're always singing and dancing around the castle? At least music is considered a 'proper' princess activity. But what about the rest of us?"

"But why does any of that matter? He doesn't understand us, he never has. This isn't any different. Callia, you shouldn't care about whether he approves of your writing; you should be able to do what makes you happy! We all have that right!" Callia raised her head and stared at her youngest sister, astonished to hear such mature wisdom coming from her mouth. Nor was she finished.

"Raia's allowed to paint and draw with Father's approval, so why can't Thaleia wear pants when she goes riding or act like a tomboy? He doesn't mind when Eralie acts like a ditz—" Eralie gave a short cry of indignation "—but he thinks Cliodne is too assertive. And why shouldn't she be? And Petra, you should be able to be a klepto if you want to! As long as you don't take any more of my stuff," she amended. Callia laughed tremulously along with her sisters.

"My point is," Eurielle finished, "that even if Father's ashamed of us, there's no reason that we should be."

During her speech, smiles had erupted around the room one by one. Only Cliodne remained stoic.

"It's not a matter of being ashamed, Eurielle. It's a matter of being allowed to do what we want," said Cliodne sadly. "If he finds out about Callia's newspaper story or our bedtime story skits, there's no telling what he'll do to stop it. There's no way he'd approve of what he thinks is improper behavior. As it is, the secret's bound to come out eventually. Look at last night; Valeria nearly caught us. There's just no privacy in the castle, no place where we can be ourselves."

Callia suddenly jerked out of her upright fetal position as the idea occurred to her, the answer to their problem. Visions of long dark tunnels, jewel-bedecked rooms, and an empty stage ran through her mind as she regarded the face of each princess in turn.

"I have an idea…"


	6. Sanctum Chapter 5

Chapter Five

For the first time in many years, silence filled the bedchamber of the seven princesses of Kyoria. The only sounds as they prepared for bed were those of whispering fabrics being pulled off or on. Thaleia adjusted her nightshirt, settling the soft grey material over her hips, before sitting on the edge of her bed to slide her feet out of her customary riding boots. Though most of her sisters preferred the soft satin of walking slippers, Thaleia found that leather shoes were more practical for the activities that she enjoyed—like horseback riding.

She rose from where she sat and went over to join her sisters, who were queuing up single-file at the washbasin. There would be no toothbrush duels that night, as each princess was allotted five minutes at the basin to brush, floss and wash before bed. Thaleia could not help but feel at a loss with the newly organized schedule—a first for all of them. Under the circumstances, however, she felt that the sacrifice was minimal compared to what they would gain if Callia's plan panned out.

Shelving her toothbrush after her turn, Thaleia returned to her bed and began to dismantle her hairstyle. No matter how tight her ponytail was to begin with, the sheer amount of activity and exercise that filled her day never failed to loosen the band holding her dark auburn hair together. She winced as she pulled the brush through the unruly strands, painfully forcing them straight. After several minutes of futile brushing, Thaleia finally admitted defeat and simply pulled her hair back once more into a low ponytail at the nape of her neck.

Settling back against the pillows, Thaleia glanced around the room to check the progress of her sisters. Many of them seemed very close to being finished as well, and only Eurielle still stood at the washbasin. Callia sat on the edge of her bed re-plaiting her hair. Petra was kneeling on the floor, pushing something further under her bed. Both Eralie and Cliodne were leaning against their pillows with the covers pulled up around them. Raia stood at the foot of her bed, looking uncertainly between the princesses. She opened her mouth, breaking the silence for the first time: "When should we—"

"Shhh!" six voices admonished her.

Thaleia glanced at the entrance before lowering her voice to a whisper, "Not here. Not yet. Wait."

As if on cue, Valeria's customary knock sounded on the door. Eurielle shrieked slightly before leaping into bed. The other princesses scrambled into place as well, pulling up the covers just as the door opened.

Thaleia held her breath as Valeria visited each of their beds, tucking them in and wishing them goodnight. She tuned out the housekeeper's babble by running over their plan in her mind. Within minutes, the door had closed and locked behind Valeria once again and the room was plunged into darkness. Still, no one moved. Thaleia took a deep breath and slowly counted to one hundred before silently sitting up in bed. A light flickered on at the other end of the room, casting an eerie glare on everyone's faces. Petra's features were particularly distorted from the glare of her lantern.

Thaleia leaned over and reached under her bed, pulling out a basket. The wicker container was filled with a jumble of items, everything from her spare hairbrush to one of her father's fencing swords (which Petra had happily filched at her request). Thaleia dug to the very bottom and pulled out her own lantern. In the work of a moment, another light had joined Petra's.

The princesses gathered in a circle around the rug which hid the trapdoor. All of them were carrying at least one basket filled with items that they felt were necessary to bring with them. Petra had no less than three bundles, one of which Thaleia knew was filled with torches to light the passageway leading to the secret chamber. Many of the items filling the packages were familiar, as they had been used countless nights as props for the bedtime stories.

With a quick motion, Cliodne kicked the rug beneath her foot, revealing the hardwood beneath. This time, only Raia shivered when the handle magically appeared. Despite the fact that they all knew what was underneath, no one seemed to want to open the door. After a moment, Thaleia finally gritted her teeth and dropped her basket to grab the cool metal. The wind emanating from the opening seemed to whisper in her ears, lifting her ponytail almost gently off her neck.

Petra moved to descend the staircase, but was stopped by a hushed hiss from Callia. "Wait! Where's Eurielle?"

Muffled snoring answered their question. Thaleia rolled her eyes, then waved her sisters along. "I'll wake her. You go ahead and place the torches. We'll meet you in the chamber."

Cliodne nodded before following Petra down the stairs. The other sisters followed, their footsteps getting fainter. Leaving her basket on the floor beside the trapdoor, Thaleia crept over to Eurielle's bedside. She smiled at her sister's figure under the covers but reached out a hand to shake her shoulder. Eurielle murmured in her sleep but did not awake. Thaleia reached out her other hand and shook with both hands, but with no more success than before. Sighing in exasperation, she took Eurielle's bedcovers in both hands and ripped them off the bed, exposing her youngest sister to the cool night air.

Awaking at the sudden chill, Eurielle squealed and bolted upright, tumbling off the bed in her haste to get up. Thaleia replaced Eurielle's covers and offered a hand to help her up.

"Grab your stuff and let's go. The others have already gone ahead."

Eurielle yawned and nodded. She reached into a dresser drawer to pull out a bundle wrapped in a lace shawl. Thaleia picked up her basket with one arm, holding the lantern with the other. Within moments, the two princesses were hurrying along the newly lit passageway, straining their eyes and ears for any hint of the others. Not until they were almost to the doorway into the chamber did they hear anything. The sounds of their sisters' voices were muffled, indicating that they had already reached the vast room that was their intended destination.

Pulling open the door, Thaleia was once again blown away by the sheer magnificence of the chamber. Her sisters were already hard at work, each girl designated a different task to prepare. Petra was traveling between each of the smaller chambers, dropping off certain items from her sacks—spare brushes, sashes, snacks, jugs, etc. Eralie was going to the doorways, draping each door opening with the signature color of one of the princesses. Raia knelt on the platform with a paintbrush in one hand and black paint in the other. In seemingly random places, she would mark a large black "X" on the floor. Callia hovered near the edge of the platform with a yardstick, measuring the edge and making notations in her journal. Cliodne lurked at the back of the room with the pile of miscellaneous items that each sister had brought. Picking up each one in turn, she organized them into a series of five or six piles.

Joining in the bustle, Thaleia and Eurielle deposited their packs near Cliodne and began to empty them into the larger pile. Several of the items, however, were put aside to be placed into their respective 'dressing rooms'. As Petra had brought plenty of brushes for everyone, Thaleia let her extra be mixed in with the rest of the supplies, along with spare matches, lantern oil, scissors, and bed sheets. Not willing to let the precious sword out of her sight, she quickly buckled it around her waist using twine from the pile.

After weeding out the supplies in her basket, Thaleia quickly dropped it off near the doorway where Eralie had hung a grey satin sheet. She then began moving the purple armchairs from their positions. Originally placed rather haphazardly around the room, they were soon arranged in several short rows facing the platform where Raia and Callia were still working.

All of the princesses seemed to complete their tasks within seconds of each other, and were soon gathered in a circle in the middle of the chamber, looking around to admire their work. Cliodne checked the length of her candle; though the room was filled with light from the sconces and the chandelier, the flame remained lit to serve as a temporary timepiece.

"That took less than half an hour! Okay, everyone get ready and we'll meet in front of the stage in about five minutes!"

There was a flurry of fabric as everyone rushed into different doorways. Thaleia disappeared behind her grey sheet and stopped dead in her tracks at the difference that Eralie made in a matter of minutes. Whereas the room had been completely empty the night before, it was now transformed into a makeshift dressing room. Eralie had placed a simple folding chair in a corner. The chair faced a silver backed mirror leaning against the far wall. The mirror barely reached her waist, so that she had to bend down to check her reflection.

Two precious minutes gone, Thaleia quickly spun and grabbed the pair of pants that Eralie had placed over the chair. Obviously, her character would be male—again. With any luck, Callia would assign her a thrilling fight scene against Petra; she had nothing against Eurielle as an adversary, of course, but Petra was certainly more skilled with a sword. There were several nights she could remember where the villain of their story—Petra—had come very close to triumphing.

Slipping on the pants, Thaleia glanced down at herself. She had a feeling that Petra had filched the pants from a stable boy, as they carried a strong scent of manure. They were also at least two sizes too big. Holding them up with one hand, she rummaged into her basket for the twine that she had used to attach her sword. She unrolled a long piece of twine, tearing it off with her teeth. Tying it around her waist, she critically surveyed the outcome. Combined with her rather plain nightshirt, she supposed she could have easily passed for a farmhand.

Thaleia glanced around the room for her shoes, nearly overlooking the corner in which they were haphazardly thrown. She shoved her bare feet into the rather rough leather and stood. Her feet immediately began sliding around. Rolling her eyes, Thaleia took the edge of her nightshirt and tore two long strips off of the end. She shoved the cloth into the toes of her shoes to fill the extra space.

Ignoring the mirror against the wall, she grabbed a hand mirror from her basket and surveyed her reflection. Below the neck, she certainly looked more like a boy than a girl, but above the neck was a different story. Thaleia rubbed her hands against the wall and then her face, feeling a thin line of dirt smudge her cheeks. That would have to do for now. There was nothing that she could really do about her hair, which was untamable no matter what she did.

Brushing aside the fabric hanging over the doorway, Thaleia returned to the chamber. She quickly noted that she was neither the first one out, nor the last. Raia, Cliodne and Callia apparently had not needed to change their appearance beyond an extra accessory or two. Petra, of course, was a master at changing quickly. Thaleia was pleased to see her dressed in the guise of a pirate, with shiny black boots and an eye patch.

Within moments, the other two had joined them. With pants and shirt, Eurielle was dressed almost exactly like Thaleia. Eralie had donned a simple day dress in place of her nightgown, and was holding a fancy-looking piece of fabric over one arm. She lightly tossed it to Thaleia, who had to stretch to the right to catch it.

"Here," Eralie explained, "I forgot to leave this in your room. It's the other half of your costume."

Thaleia held up the piece and immediately recognized it as her father's favorite vest. There were still slight stains on the shoulders from one of their many dinner-time food fights. She quickly slipped it on over her nightshirt and then wiped the dirt off of her face using the back of her hand. Obviously, she would not be playing a servant, but nobility of some kind. After all, only the upper-class wore vests at all, let alone such an elaborately-ugly one as the vest she had donned.

All of the sisters turned to Callia for explanations as to their allotted costumes. For the first time, the princesses would not be improvising a story, but acting out one that had already been written—the one that had appeared in the paper earlier that day. Thaleia felt rather excited to actually wear a full costume to get in character, though she was also slightly nervous that the entire fate of her fictional character was in the hands of someone else.

Callia wordlessly handed each of them a piece of paper. Upon first glance, Thaleia saw that they were cutouts from the newspaper story, with a few written additions along the sides in Callia's handwriting. Skimming through hers, Thaleia quickly jumped up on the stage to take her place at the 'X' furthest from the front, as was indicated. As soon as everyone had taken their places, Callia stepped forward to address them all.

"Okay, you all have your roles and the basic idea of my storyline; the dialogue and blocking is completely up to you—"

"Blocking?" Eurielle interrupted, bewildered.

Cliodne explained the term. "How you move around the stage."

"Just make sure you don't get too near the edge," Raia chimed in, "I'm still looking for the perfect material to make a curtain for us. If you see anything around the castle that is a rather heavy fabric, preferably a dark color in velvet, let me know. Or better yet, let Petra know!" Petra grinned, her hazel eyes twinkling.

Thaleia looked at Callia again. "Aren't you going to act? You know the story better than any of us—"

"Which is why I'll be narrating. And observing. Watching you guys will be a great way for me to watch for holes in the plot or the characters. Even though it was published and everything, I still think it's missing something."

All of the princesses nodded in understanding. And under the glow of the sconces and the flickering of scenic gemstones, the story began.

A/N: As always, reviews are much appreciated and highly valued. Everyone needs validation every now and then, and we're no different. We love your input and constructive criticism, and need to know if it's worth it to continue posting? So just press that little button in the left-hand corner there…yes, that's it, go ahead and press it. Thank you!


	7. Sanctum Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Ty had to smile as he brought his wine goblet to his lips. Valeria had been explaining the odd behavior of the princesses over the last few minutes, and her crazy hand gestures and facial expressions were nothing short of hilarious. When her eyes popped out during her explanation of a particularly unusual experience with the youngest princess, Ty could hardly keep his wine from spilling down the front of his tunic.

"…and she's always falling, you know, but she nearly jumped out of her skin when I caught her staring at the curtains."

"Madam, I must point out that it is not only the young princesses who are acting strangely," Weston, the head butler, said. "His Majesty has been very concerned about their abnormal behavior and has been suffering himself."

"Suffering?" Valeria guffawed. "If by suffering you mean he's had to start dealing with the fact that the young ladies no longer bow to his every whim then I can see your point."

"Madam!" Weston gasped. His mustache twitched as he smoothed down his thin grey hair. "To say such things, especially of our most excellent king, are beyond your station." He extracted a hankie from his inner pocket and sniffled, glaring at Valeria. The woman glared right back, and Ty had to struggle to keep from laughing. Honestly, if the pair of them ever reconciled their petty quarrels they would make quite a good couple.

"I have to agree with Weston, Madam," Ty spoke up. Weston made a noise of victory as he raised his chin in the air. "The king has been acting strangely lately. But the princesses have been acting odd as well." At this point Valeria stuck her tongue out at Weston and took a swig of her own wine. "However, I believe it will pass. The princesses will go back to their nightly food fights and their father shall return to being the ruler we all know and love."

All were quiet for a moment as the conversation came to a close. Ty always had a way of putting in the final word that left little room for further arguments. As he took another sip of his drink, he looked around the kitchen. Along the far wall were several stoves used for cooking all the food in the castle. One wall was lined with wooden barrels used to hold wine, apples, potatoes, and many other food supplies. A narrow door led up a flight of stairs, the only real exit out of the kitchen, and a door opposite the staircase led to the laundry room and drying yards. In the centre of the room sat a large wooden working table surrounded by various chairs and stools, three of which were occupied by the present individuals. Hanging all around the kitchen were various pots, pans, herbs, spices, and the occasional dead goose or two.

Weston, Valeria, and Ty had been meeting for daily lunch as long as any of them could remember. Well, for as long as Ty had been Head Steward, anyway. Since the three of them were the leaders of their various duties – Valeria the cooking, Ty the household, and Weston the cleaning staff – they had decided that daily meetings to keep up with all the goings on in the castle would suit the manor quite nicely. But what had started as strictly business had turned into pleasure, and Ty now found that after a few initial minutes of working chitchat their conversations often turned to gossip, arguments, and laughter.

There were a few minutes of quiet as all three chewed their food quietly, savoring the delicious roast beef Valeria had worked on all morning. While they may not have been royalty, Valeria always saw to it that they were served food of the highest quality, and for that Ty was eternally grateful.

"What I really wanted to discuss," Ty spoke up after swallowing a large mouthful of roast, "was the presence of Sir Luka."

There was an audible groan heard from his two companions, and Valeria slammed down her knife into the table. "Is that cowardly, scurvy, no good slimy dog back from the Far Lands already?"

"Why, my dear Valeria, I had no idea you were so fond of our good Sir Luka," Ty laughed. He had to duck in order to avoid being hit by a flying dinner roll.

"Fond? Ha! I look forward to the day when that cur no longer sets foot in this palace!"

"Sir Luka is one of the King's greatest financial supporters," Weston pointed out. "He and his family have shown support for the throne as far back as the Galls."

"Just because he shows support doesn't mean he's a decent man," Valeria hissed. "You know that the last time he was here he showed—" she stopped and looked at Ty uncertainly, but continued in a hushed tone. "He showed _intentions _toward Princess Eralie?"

Ty, who had been in the middle of a sip, choked and put his cup down. "Intentions? I hadn't known that," he said, feigning calmness that he didn't feel.

"Toward Eralie?" Weston asked. "I thought it had been towards Princess Callia?"

"Aha! Proof that the slimy braggart is, indeed, a conniving dog sent from the mouth of hell. Trying to court two ladies at once – and princesses at that!"

"Really? Because I had thought he had shown intentions towards the milk maid," Ty said darkly. Both Valeria and Weston looked at him, unused to hearing such sarcasm come from his lips.

"Are you serious, Master Typharius?" Weston asked.

"Not entirely," Ty confessed, but he didn't smile. "But I do agree with everything Valeria says about him. There is nothing honest or good about the man, and everywhere he goes trouble soon follows. He is a no good, dirty, wicked fiend that would be better suited to taking up residence with the swine in their mud hole."

"Oh-ho!" Valeria cheered, getting up from her seat to hug Ty. "My my, I don't think we've ever heard such harsh words from the mouth of our young Ty! Here's some more wine, lad – drink up!" She sloshed the remainder of the bottle into Ty's goblet, and he couldn't help but smile.

Moving onto better subjects, Ty inquired after Weston's family's well-being and Valeria's needlework while finishing his meal. As soon as he was done he stood from the table, straightened his tunic, and bowed to each of his companions. "Until tomorrow, my friends. I bid you a good afternoon."

Walking up the stairs from the kitchen took a while, seeing as the spiral staircase kept winding tightly around the center column, but once in the corridor above it was a quick walk to his study. Where the kitchen had been dark and smoky, the walls browned from the years of cooking and the floor heavy with dirt, the corridor was clean and picturesque. The stone walls were a cream color, hung with bright tapestries and lined with various statues and suits of armor. The floor was a rich marble, covered in spots with ornate oriental rugs. Ty always loved looking at the décor of the castle and found that he never tired of discovering a tapestry or painting that he had never noticed before.

As he turned a corner he collided with an unexpected obstacle impeding his path. He was thrown backwards by the force, and as he stumbled up again he cursed under his breath.

"What in the name of—" he stopped and stared at the object he had run into. A woman, about four feet tall and stooped from many years, looked up at him from her spot on the floor, dazed from the impact. The fine gowns and tunics that had been in her laundry basket were thrown about everywhere, making her seem as if she were sitting in a pool of multicolored clothes. Ty quickly rushed to her side and helped her up.

"I'm so terribly sorry, Madam. I was quite lost in my thoughts and didn't see you when I turned around the corner." He gathered up the clothes for the woman, recognizing a few of the dresses as those belonging to the princesses. "You must be one of the washer women, then?" he questioned. The old woman stared at Ty as if she was still confused, blinking in a slow, thoughtful way. "Yes, I think I've seen you before… right then, you're probably looking for the laundry. It's just down the stairs in that corridor, the door leading out of the kitchens once you get to the bottom… of course you probably already knew that."

The old woman raised an eyebrow at Ty as the two stared at one other for a moment. Suddenly, she giggled, raised a wrinkled hand to his face, and patted it a few times before tottering off to the laundry. Ty looked after her for a moment before shrugging and heading off to his study.

Ty had been working on his papers for about a half an hour before he suddenly looked up and sighed. He looked around his office for a moment, trying to decide what to do next.

The emerald carpet perfectly complemented the mahogany walls, many of which were lined with all sorts of books. Books on diplomacy, books on traveling, books on seafaring – everything a steward would need to perform his job most excellently. His desk was mahogany to match the walls, and his chair was the same soft leather that was used in the library seats. Behind his desk hung a portrait of King Gustave, and if all truth be told it quite terrified Ty. Across from his desk was a medium-sized fireplace, over which hung his favorite part of the room: a portrait of his father. Before he had taken the position, Ty's father had been Gustave's head steward and premiere companion. Ty had come to live at the palace with his father as a young boy, and after his death Ty was old enough to take the position his father once held. It was a great honor to serve in so high a place, especially after his father had done it before him.

He shook his head and placed it in his hands, but it was no use. The discussion at lunch had stayed with him and there was no possible way for him to continue working unless he got it out of his head. He looked around, then quickly pulled out his key ring and unlocked the middle drawer in his desk.

Placing the book upon his desk and opening it to the first blank page, he loaded his quill with ink and set to work writing.

_12 February 1707_

_Once again I've found it easier to write down my thoughts and set them in order than simply dealing with them in my head, but this time it's not to do with travel arrangements or public appearance dates. It has to do with the princesses._

_During lunch today Weston, Valeria and I were discussing the odd behavior of the ladies and, in turn, their father. There have been suspicious clues hinting that something might be changing around the manor, but I assured the others that it was simply a phase that will pass. However, I am not sure it is a phase._

_For starters, I might as well write down what incidents I have witnessed to give me reason to suspect some strange goings on in the lives of our noble ladies._

_I had an encounter with Princess Cliodne, though not face to face. I was looking in the library for a book on horseback riding when I found a note in her hand. I should not have read it, I know, but curiosity got the best of me. What I found was entirely perplexing, as it seemed to be a list of some kind, yet it was all done in shorthand and code._

_In regards to Princess Callia, the event also took place in the library later that same day. I had walked in some time later, intending on returning the book on horses, when I noticed her sitting in the window seat slightly hidden by a red curtain. I walked over, wishing to bid her good day and to ask if she would be attending the local faire, when I noticed that she quickly hid something from my sight under her skirt folds and attempted to look as if she was casually reading a book. I decided it best not to ask, but I couldn't help but see that the book she was reading was held upside down and, as ill fate would have it, the subject was of castration._

_Ty had to stop writing momentarily to shake his head and laugh, remembering Callia's terrified and disgusted expression as he made an off-hand comment on her subject of choice._

_The next day, I rounded a corner in time to see the Princess Thaleia double over and fall down a few stairs in the entrance hall. Suspecting her to be ill and in danger, I dropped all the rolls of parchment I was carrying and rushed to her side, lifting her head and calling her name. After a few moments she opened one bright eye to look at me before quickly standing up. Of course, I was thrown off guard and stood as well, simply staring at her._

_"Are you alright, my lady?" I asked seriously._

_"Hmm? Oh, me? Yes, yes, I'm fine," she answered, laughing off the incident._

_"What happened? Are you ill? Should I fetch a physician?"_

_"What! No! I mean… ahem… no. That won't be necessary, thank you."_

_"Will you at least tell me what happened, then?" I asked, still looking at her cautiously, afraid that she might collapse again at any moment._

_"Well, I was walking down the stairs when I suddenly felt the urge to… you see, I was practicing for… Death is a funny thing… Bye!" And with that she picked up her skirts, hurried down the stairs and was out the door before I could really figure out what was going on._

_Another event just as bizarre took place with her twin sister, Princess Raia. I was standing in the drawing room, discussing the plans to have the piano tuned and fixed so that she may play again soon, when suddenly her eyes seemed to lose their focus of me. She trailed off in the middle of a sentence and reached a hand over my shoulder, as though she were going to pull me close. But instead of grabbing me, she touched the brocade curtains over my shoulder and exclaimed, "These are perfect!" before running off and leaving me to wonder at her odd behavior. The next day those very same curtains disappeared from the room, and though I am sure it was Raia's doing, Princess Petra must have been behind it as well._

_Speaking of Petra… more and more items have been going missing from the castle. This isn't to say that we've had our fair share of things walk away before, but never before have I had to order our craftsmen to make five new drawer handles, seven new doorknobs, thirteen brass candelabras, and three new decorative suits of armor. To be honest, I have no idea where she puts it all or what she does with it… if, in fact, she is actually the culprit._

_As for the youngest, Princess Eurielle, even she has been acting strangely (more so than usual). I walked down into the kitchens the other day to speak with Valeria when I saw her in a corner, hitting different sized forks, glasses, and pots with a meat cleaver. When I approached her and asked what she was doing she blushed and smiled at me shyly, but gave me what is likely the most honest answer I've received from any of the ladies: "testing sounds."_

_"Testing sounds?" I asked doubtfully._

_"Yes," she answered, holding up a fork. "You see, when you hit it with a mallet, each fork or instrument makes a different sound. Observe." She used the mallet to carefully hit the fork, and I could hear a slight hum emitting from the eating utensil._

_"Ah, I see," I said earnestly. "What about that fork?" She struck the next one, but she must have done it wrong because the poor fork snapped in half. She gasped and looked at me, but I was smiling and laughing already. She laughed too, and after a minute I lowered my voice._

_"So, Princess, tell me… why, exactly, are you testing tuning forks?"_

_She looked troubled by my question and tugged on a lock of her blonde hair. "I'm not really supposed to tell you…"_

_"My dear lady, you must forget who you are talking to. You know you can confide anything in me." I knew if she would have told me she would have sworn me to secrecy, which is fine. I don't mind keeping secrets, as long as I know that no one, especially the princesses, is getting hurt._

_"I can't, though. If I do everyone will be mad at me, and—" But she cut off because at just that moment the door leading out to the laundry rooms swung open and the old laundry woman came through. She was halfway to the steps leading up from the kitchen when she stopped and looked at Eurielle and me. Though she has a kind, older face, her expression was one of annoyance and frustration, and this must have frightened Eurielle. She gave a squeak, gathered up her instruments, and ran up the steps away from the kitchen. I haven't the heart to tell Valeria that Eurielle is the one, in fact, who took her favorite stewing pot._

_Ty stopped with a smile and looked into the flames across from his desk. He sighed before continuing, his mouth still in an amiable half smile._

_I feel as if I'm forgetting someone… ah, yes. Princess Eralie. How could I forget such a dear friend? Quite honestly, she is the only one of whom I have nothing odd to report. I saw her strolling in the garden yesterday, stopping here and there to pick a flower for a bouquet she was making for the dinner table. I stopped for a moment when our paths crossed on the stone walkway, and we talked for some time about her sisters and her father, the state of affairs in the land and other things. She was the one who informed me of Sir Luka's presence, and when she mentioned him there was a slight change in her demeanor. Usually she is a soft-spoken young woman with a very calm countenance, but upon mention of that unworthy villain she seemed troubled. I turned the conversation back over to the faire happening in town, and she seemed much pleased by that. It seemed too short a time that we were able to speak, but soon I had to attend back to my duties and she had to go prepare for dinner, so we were forced to part._

_End note._

Ty heard a knock on the door and looked up.

"Yes?" he called out.

The door opened and a stable boy was shown in by one of the maids. He approached Ty's desk and bowed his head a bit.

"Yes, Karl?"

"Sir, whenever you're up to going, your horse is ready to take you into town," Karl said.

"My horse?" Ty asked. "I thought I was taking a carriage?"

"All of our carriages are currently out of order, sir. His Majesty has taken two into the neighboring kingdom, four are out for repair, another few are in use by the Duke, and Sir Luka has just taken the last one for an inspection ride through the surrounding farm lands."

Ty sighed and shook his head. "Thank you, Karl. I shall be down in a moment."

Bowing once more, Karl left the room. Ty stood up and threw on his cloak and hat before locking his journal back in his desk. He sighed again, this time from frustration, and walked down to the stables. _I can't stand horses – bloody death traps if I ever did lay eyes on one. Curses on Sir Luka!_


	8. Secrets Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Something was wrong. Very wrong. Gustave could sense it, could feel it in his gut. His daughters were sitting at the table, quietly eating their dinners in the same way that they had for the last few weeks. There were no food fights, no arguments. The food remained in its rightful place, as did the plates, the silverware and even the princesses. In the course of several days, his daughters had undergone a complete behavioral transformation. They were acting like _ladies_.

Yes, something was very wrong, indeed.

He should probably be thankful that his daughters were finally acting like the princesses they were born to be. But Gustave was, in fact, one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Yes, the princesses were behaving as he'd always hoped they would, but he wanted to know _why_. _Why _the sudden change?

His eyes narrowed suspiciously as—for the second time that night—the hissing of whispered conversation drifted to his end of the table. He wasn't able to trace the origin of this exchange, but he suspected the whisper to have started with either Cliodne or Raia. Gustave had never been a self-conscious man; he was not one to immediately assume that a comment made in undertones was about him in any way. However, he was a bit uncomfortable at the idea that he was being left out of a discussion that seemed to be so riveting to all of his daughters. The princesses had never before been disposed to keeping secrets, particularly from their father. On the contrary, they were almost _too_ eager to speak their minds at the dinner table. Gustave prided himself on the open and honest relationship he held with all of his daughters. Perhaps that was why he found this dubious silence to be so unnatural.

_Thunk._

Gustave was jolted from his reverie by a sudden clatter resulting from his youngest taking a nosedive into her plate of bangers and mash. Or at least, she _would_ have landed in her plate had it not been for the quick thinking—and even quicker reflexes—of her sister Petra. With not enough time to actually move the plate from beneath her now-sleeping sister, Petra had instead provided her hand as a cushion, catching Eurielle's cheek in her palm and consequently sandwiching her hand between Eurielle and her dinner. Petra's face reflected shock, disgust and a hint of regret.

"Oh, for goodness' sake!"

Gustave was not the only one to notice this feat, as the dinner table rang with a variety of audible reactions.

"Oh, Eurielle!"

"Careful, her hair's dragging in the gravy."

"Should we wake her?"

"Nice catch, Pet."

Petra's voice indicated frustration. "_Will someone get her _off_ me_?"

Raia rose from her seat and made her way to Eurielle's side, gently shaking her shoulders to rouse her. Petra took advantage of her freedom to remove her hand and painstakingly wipe it clean of food.

Raia's voice was low and soothing as she held Eurielle's head up, stroking her hair while the youngest princess fought her way back to consciousness.

"I know, Elle. I know you're tired."

"And _why _is she so tired that she's falling asleep in the gravy?" Gustave's voice rang through the dining room. Thaleia and Cliodne jumped slightly in their seats; the king realized that his presence had been forgotten in their preoccupation with their sister's narcolepsy.

Gustave wiped his mouth with his napkin. "This provides the perfect opening for us to discuss certain events that have been brought to my attention as of late." He indicated for Raia to take her seat, which she did after making sure that Eurielle wouldn't get another potato facial anytime soon. In fact, Eurielle didn't seem remotely tired anymore; on the contrary, her eyes were now wide open and fixed on her father in apparent alarm.

The king cleared his throat. "Various sources have informed me…"

Thaleia coughed conspicuously, a cough that somehow managed to sound like "_Valeria!_"

She smiled at her father, muttering in a seemingly innocent voice "Excuse me."

Gustave speared her with his eyes. "Very well, then. If we're going to name names. _Valeria_ has informed me of rather odd behavior on your parts as of late. Apparently, my daughters have been rising at unspeakably late hours and are exhibiting unusual displays of exhaustion, as we witnessed here not so long ago."

Eurielle's fair cheeks immediately flushed as pink as her gown. Gustave continued his speech, peering over his steepled fingers at his daughters.

"Not only that, but it has also been brought to my attention that the cobbler's bill has risen drastically due to the replacement of several pairs of slippers that have been ruined beyond repair. Furthermore, Valeria says that your boots have required more cleaning in the past few weeks than they have needed in the last year. I must wonder how this is remotely possible considering that all of the rooms and hallways in this castle have floors of marble or carpet. Methinks my daughters have some explaining to do."

The princesses immediately averted their eyes from Gustave's hard stare, all except for Callia, Cliodne and Petra. The king was surprised at the outright defiance in their eyes at his inquiry. Eralie's voice was respectful when she replied on everyone's behalf, though her eyes remained fixed on the plate in front of her. "We have no idea to what you are referring, Father. If our shoes have been a little dirty, then perhaps we have been walking in the gardens too often."

Gustave pounded the table with his fist. "Do you think me stupid?" Silence filled the room, though he refused to dwell on the meaning. "Answer me plainly: have you or have you not been leaving the boundaries of this castle in direct opposition to the rules that I have set for your safety?"

Eralie raised her eyes to meet his, no hesitation in her response. "No, Father, we have not."

The honesty in her gaze did little to assuage Gustave's suspicions. "Very well, then. If you speak the truth, then you should have little objection to my making sure; from now on, a guard will be placed inside your bedchamber."

A cacophony of outraged cries filled the room. Eralie paled and swooned against the back of her chair.

"The scandal!"

"Father, have you lost your mind?"

"I don't _think_ so!"

Cliodne stood, her eyes snapping as she delivered her opinion of the idea. "Father, do you realize the position that such a plan would put us in? Do you really intend to allow a _man_ access to our bedchamber?"

Gustave's face flushed from equal parts frustration and embarrassment. He quickly amended his order. "Well, _outside_ your chamber, then. My point is, I will be forced to take drastic measures if these alarming instances continue."

When he scanned the table for their reactions, he was met with faces that still displayed anger, yet also a hint of relief and—were his eyes deceiving him, or was Thaleia _smirking_?

The heavy silence was broken by the sound of the door opening as Sir Bionne entered the room. Upon first glance, King Gustave could see that his steward was not nearly as composed as he normally was. There was a look of intense dislike upon his face, which seemed otherwise set in stone.

"Your Majesty," Ty began to announce, but was interrupted by the rather loud entrance of a second man.

This man strode into the room, the heels of his boots clicking on the floor.

"Your Highness, it is wonderful to be admitted to your illustrious halls once again!"

The thinning of Ty's lips provided the only indication of his ire. "Your Majesty," he continued with a bow, "May I present Sir Luka of Wallen."

"Eurgh."

Several pairs of shocked flew to Eurielle after this outburst. Cliodne, ever the tactful one, quickly covered her sister's indiscretion by saying, "Eurielle, if you don't like asparagus, don't eat it."

Gustave turned his attention to his unexpected guest. Sir Luka came from a noble line nearly as long as his own. All of his ancestors had been loyal adherents of the crown. Granted, Gustave did not particularly care for the man, or his manners, but there was no real harm in him. His very appearance gave indication to his standing, with curly dark hair and dark eyes that bore testament to his Wallenian ancestors. Though well built and athletic, he lacked several inches in comparison with Gustave's head steward.

For some time, however, the king had noticed a certain animosity between Sir Luka and his daughters, though these emotions were rather one-sided…or, as things stood, _seven_-sided.

Sir Luka preened the front of his shirt before opening his mouth. "My dear king, I thank you for seeing me so promptly."

Gustave's eyebrows shot up to meet his hairline. He had had a choice?

"I have some rather serious matters to discuss in regards to the royal budget this past year and…"

Out of the corner of his eye, the king could see his daughters slipping out of the room one by one. He longed to join them, as dinner had clearly come to an end, yet also mourned the fact that Sir Luka's untimely arrival had cut their discussion short. He could only hope that they had reaped some benefit from his admonishments, but only time would tell.


	9. Secrets Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Raia allowed herself a small smile as she trailed Eralie and Cliodne from the dining room, flanked by Thaleia and followed closely by her three remaining sisters as the royal party made its familiar trek to their shared bedroom. Normally, she would feel guilty for leaving her father at the mercy of such a man as Sir Luka, but she could only feel a sense of amused relief at the unexpected reprieve from his interrogation. Her amusement was evidently shared by the majority of her sisters, judging from Thaleia's broad grin and the twinkle in Callia's eye.

"Did you see the look on his face?" said Thaleia. "He didn't know if he should be angry or confused! I thought he would turn purple!" Her dark auburn hair—slightly mussed in its ponytail—swished from side to side with the force of her jaunty strut as the group turned a corner and ascended the marble staircase.

"It would've clashed horribly with his hair," Raia mused faux-seriously, relishing in her twin's chuckle before succumbing to her own amusement.

"That was close!" Eurielle giggled from behind her. "My heart was beating so fast, I thought he suspected everything!"

"Well, your snoring probably didn't help the matter," Petra snapped peevishly. "If it were up to you, you'd probably blab our secret in your sleep, leaving us to clean up the mess while you dozed in your porridge!" She clearly didn't share in the relief exhibited by some of her sisters—but then, Raia would never have classified Petra as an optimist to begin with. Nor was she the most patient of sisters, if the glare she directed at Eurielle was any indication.

The fair haired princess took little time in mounting a defense: "I didn't ask you to catch me, and if you're going to be all high-and-mighty about it, I'd rather have swum in the gravy! Besides, if I wasn't roused at an _ungodly_ hour this morning by someone rummaging around in her stupid _trunk_, maybe I would have been able to stay awake!"

"You're trying to blame it on _me_? You're the one who couldn't stay conscious during one measly dinner with Father!" Petra rolled her brown eyes, seeming about to add another scathing remark, at which point Raia felt it prudent to interject.

"Alright, that's enough. Lay off, Pet; it wasn't Eurielle's fault," she soothed, pausing slightly at the top of the stairs to allow Eurielle to catch up while Petra and Thaleia continued forward. The seven princesses walked two-by-two the rest of the way down the hall, with Eralie and Cliodne leading the way and Callia bringing up the rear, the odd princess out.

"Petra does have a point, though, Raia," Callia pointed out logically. "How could Father fail to suspect our secret when we've done little to hide our change in behavior? We should take more care—"

"Certainly you're not suggesting that we stop going?" said Thaleia incredulously, as if the very idea was ridiculous. "It was your idea!"

"I know, and I don't regret it for an instant. I'm not saying we should stop, but just maybe, every once in a while…"

Raia caught Callia's train of thought and continued. "…we should forego a night?" Her heart gave a pang and her head grew fuzzy at the mere thought of the idea. They'd spent countless hours in their sanctuary already, and Raia couldn't imagine a place better suited for the freedom and acceptance they'd always sought. Even the idea of allowing a single evening to pass without traversing that magical passageway seemed insurmountable, unthinkable. From the look on their faces, Raia's sisters felt the same way, though some seemed to have a harder time accepting the suggestion than others.

"It's only logical," said Cliodne, speaking over her shoulder to join in the conversation. "Particularly since Father has threatened us with this ridiculous guard notion. They won't be able to discover anything as long as they're outside the room, but even so, we should try to appear as normal as we can under the circumstances. We have to try to avoid Father's suspicion by not letting the guards find out anything. If we took a night off every now and then, we would be better rested, less prone to—" her eyes flickered over Eurielle before she turned back around, "—obvious displays of exhaustion, and more able to act the part."

"And we should definitely take better care of our slippers," Thaleia cut in, eying her sturdy boots alongside Raia's fragile shoes; Raia felt an uncanny urge to curl her toes, as her twin's tomboyish disdain made her strangely defensive of her frilly footwear. Though it was true that she had worn through several pairs of slippers in the past couple of weeks, she resented her twin's insinuation that she'd been to blame for raising their father's suspicions.

"Maybe we should work harder to rise earlier as well, and not to lie abed until late morning," Raia cut in, an edge to her voice as she made eye contact with Thaleia. A few moments of silent communication, and they settled their unspoken disagreement in a way that only twins can—through understanding of and insight into one another's feelings. Funnily enough, the tension between the two went entirely unnoticed by the rest of their sisters, who continued to discuss their methods of dealing with Gustave's suspicions.

"And we don't need to hold off every night, after all," argued Eralie, her blue eyes gleaming as she turned the brass knob on the large mahogany door leading to their bedchamber. "Just every once in a whole, enough to avoid suspicion."

"So we can still go tonight, then?" Eurielle asked eagerly. "It was my night to run the betrayal scene!"

Looking to Cliodne for her affirming nod, Raia assured: "We can still go tonight. After all, one more night wouldn't hurt." She felt the familiar flutter of excitement at the mere mention of their nighttime activities, particularly anything that related to their storytelling and acting endeavors. Raia's anticipation rose as she followed her sisters into the room, her eyes automatically turning to the rug that would later be removed to reveal the doorway to their dreams.

Raia had every intention of adhering to Callia's and Cliodne's suggestion to stagger their visits to the sanctum, particularly in light of their father's immediate implementation of his guard threat. However, "one more night" turned into another consecutive night, and another, and another, until restraint became the last consideration on any of their minds. One or more of the princesses always found an excuse that necessitated their return each night.

Raia's excitement was at its peak tonight in particular, though there was still an hour before Valeria's nightly visit. She couldn't restrain a slight shiver of anticipation as she considered the consistent progression of their nightly plays, which were steadily developing into a full-blown story with the unrestrained freedom offered by the sanctum. Raia collected her kit of sewing supplies and paints together with the fabric swatches that Petra had gathered from around the palace. She tied them together in a burgundy bundle, then pushed it out of sight under her scarlet-covered bed, where she could readily reach it after Valeria had come and gone. Straightening up, she turned to survey the action in the other corners of the room. Her sisters—with the exception of Eralie and Thaleia, who had each disappeared after dinner—were employed in various pastimes as part of their now nightly routine of preparation and compilation for their midnight activities.

Cliodne was getting ready to burn the midnight oil…literally. She had lined up seven oil lamps in a row on the floor and was moving down the line, filling them to the brim with camphor that she'd begged off of Valeria the previous night. Raia had at first protested this manner of refilling the lamps—after all, how would they explain an oil stain in the carpet?—but Cliodne had anticipated such a problem, cushioning each of the lamps with three terry cloth towels apiece to catch every single drop.

Callia paced back and forth across the room, muttering to herself as she scribbled in her journal. Her hair, normally neatly braided down her back, was fastened messily in a knot upon her head, and her right cheek was smudged with ink. Every so often, Callia would take a theatric stance reminiscent of Eralie at her most dramatic, mouth a few words, and jot something down in a moment of sudden inspiration. She had been working in such a fashion for several days now, ever since the princesses had first begun speaking seriously of developing their random skits into a story, and their story into a theatrical production.

Eurielle was the only one among the sisters who remained virtually still and silent at her post by the door. She was perched upon her knees with her head inclined to listen for any telltale sound outside of their room. Thus far, their father's guards had consistently reported to their posts only after Valeria had locked their door at night, but the princesses refused to take this pattern for granted. In an attempt to avoid accidental detection, Cliodne had tasked the youngest princess with guard duty of their own—which also kept Eurielle from interfering and annoying her sisters, particularly Petra.

Petra, in an uncharacteristic display of selfless domesticity, had offered to help Raia with her many costume alterations. She was perched delicately upon her trunk, bent over a pair of purloined pants with a look of frustrated concentration upon her face. Every so often, she would rear back from her work with a slight cry of pain and stick her wounded finger into her mouth to relieve the sting.

Raia could empathize with Petra's sewing frustrations. After many painstaking hours of work, she had finally finished altering the curtain for the stage, rigging the material around a long wooden pole that used to be a rake from the gardener's shed. Raia held out her slim, long-fingered hands in front of her face, grimacing at the slightly red pinpricks that marred their once smooth texture. It had taken many attempts to get the hang of working her sewing needle through the heavy brocade. She felt grateful that it was such a dark color, as she was uncertain whether she would have been able to keep from staining the fabric with her blood. This was not something she would ever tell any of her sisters, however, particularly Thaleia, who—despite or perhaps _because _of her many mishaps—could not stand the sight of another person's blood.

With a slight squeak, Eurielle scooted away from the door. "_Someone's coming!_" she hissed, scrambling to her feet. She ran to help Cliodne hide her lamps while Raia stuffed the now-folded curtain under her bed to join her bundle. Before all evidence of their activity had vanished, however, the door swung open. Raia froze where she knelt by her bed, only to sigh in relief as Eralie glided in, followed closely by Thaleia.

Thaleia cracked a grin at seeing the guilty looks upon her sisters' faces, and Eralie's eyebrows disappeared into her hairline as she wryly asked, "You were expecting someone else?"

Feeling no need to answer her sister's question, Raia reached back under her bed to retrieve her bundle. Before she could draw it out to continue packing it, however, she was stopped by Thaleia.

"Keep it hidden," her twin advised, then raised her voice to include the rest of her sisters. "Valeria will be up soon. Eralie heard her tell Horace, that new guard, to meet her up here in ten minutes. She's planning to come early."

This piece of news threw the room into another whirlwind of panicked mayhem, though slightly less frantic than it was a moment before. The activity of the room resumed as the princesses worked to cover their tracks. Cliodne and Eurielle continued wrapping the oil lamps in their towels, stuffing two apiece into each of the wardrobes belonging to Thaleia, Cliodne, Raia, and Callia—more specifically, the ones least crowded with clothes (in Thaleia's case, this was due to the fact that most of her limited clothing selection were scattered across the floor or stuffed under her bed). Callia ceased the appearance of composition and began her nighttime routine by dressing and cleaning up for "bed", as did Eralie and Thaleia. Petra, noticeably relieved to have her domestic good deed ended a half hour earlier than planned, practically threw the half-mended pants in Raia's general direction, then retreated to the wash basin before anyone could make any further requests of her.

Raia doubted that there was anything else she could do in the short amount of time before Valeria arrived, so she merely retrieved her boots to add to the collection under the bed before joining the majority of her sisters in changing and washing up. She donned her red nightgown and cleaned her teeth at the wash basin—tasks that took little time in the scheme of things, even considering the scuffle she had to break up between Eurielle and Petra over who rightfully possessed the pink painted toothbrush (Eurielle). After relinquishing the sink to Eralie, she returned to her bed, pulling down the covers and climbing between the soft, silky sheets.

Regardless of the excitement pumping through her veins, Raia couldn't deny the temptation of her downy mattress luring her into a deep slumber. It was like this every night when she climbed into bed, and she assumed that it was so for the rest of her sisters, as well. She could barely keep her eyes open, even though she was expecting Valeria's tell-tale knock all the while. Through a slight haze of exhaustion, she narrowly watched Eurielle and Cliodne climbing into their own beds, the last of the princesses to do so. This was becoming the norm of many nights, though not all; the princesses would be prepared for the bed check well before the housekeeper's visit, except on the occasional night when they were carried away with their preparations.

Even though she had been expecting it, the sound of Valeria's knock startled Raia just the same; she suspected it had more to do with the fact that she had been awakened from her doze than that the housekeeper had actually startled her.

"Come in," called Cliodne. Raia was impressed that she still managed to look and sound completely alert, even through a humongous yawn.

Upon Valeria's entrance, Raia caught sight of two palace guards standing sentinel just outside the doorway, having clearly just reported to their posts. She couldn't suppress a sigh as she considered the fruitlessness of her father's endeavors—though she couldn't even pretend to hold a smidgeon of guilt for his consistent disappointment.

The Head of Housekeeping seemed surprised to find all of the princesses already in bed, despite the fact that it certainly wasn't the first time this had happened in the last two months. However, if the snores and deep breathing were any indication, more than one of Her Majesties had already entered dreamland before the customary nighttime visit. This was certainly odd behavior to fulfill the king's suspicions, but Raia considered it to be a lesser proof in lieu of Eurielle's previous indiscretion. What could Valeria possibly tell their father—that the princesses were disobeying him by falling asleep too soon?

Valeria bustled around the room in her usual manner, albeit slightly more softly than usual. She spoke in an undertone to Cliodne, Eralie, Petra, and Thaleia, bestowed a feathery kiss apiece on the sleeping Eurielle and Callia, then turned to Raia.

"I'm going to tell you the same as I told your sisters," she whispered, leaning so close to Raia that she could smell cloves and cinnamon on her breath. Raia closed her eyes as she felt the matronly woman's lips on her forehead, opening them again to look into her eyes as she continued.

"Your father's worried about you, and you can't really blame him. Really, Princess, is all this really necessary? Should you really be worrying your father in this way?" Raia stamped down a fraction of guilt. Valeria cupped her face in her palm, gently compelling her to look at her. "I just hope you know that you can talk to me about anything, whatever it is." Her eyes traveled over the princess's face, looking for any sign or hint of compliance. Raia pursed her lips to keep from saying anything.

Having received as little an answer from Raia as any of her other sisters, Valeria straightened up, her disappointment evident, and doused the last remaining candle on the nightstand at the front of the room. Now, the only source of light in the princesses' bedchamber streamed through the open door at the other end. Valeria moved to stand in the center of the bedchamber, directly on top of the rug, and circled around to survey each of the princesses in turn—even those who appeared as nothing more than breathing lumps of blankets.

"I don't know where you're going, what you're doing, or how you're doing it, but I hope it's worth all this secrecy and sleeplessness. Good night." And on that cryptic note, Valeria walked to the door and let herself out, giving Raia another glimpse of the soldiers outside. The definitive _thunk_ of the dead bolt attested to the end of Valeria's visit.

As with every night since their first discovery of the sanctum, Raia felt newly rejuvenated after hearing the turn of that lock. She turned to her nightstand, fumbled clumsily in the dark for a few moments, then succeeded in lighting the candle next to her bed. One by one, each of her sisters sat up where they lay, lighting each of their own candles and lanterns—even Eurielle, who had not had to be awakened by any of her sisters for at least two weeks. It seemed as if the excitement of the secret or the magic of the sanctum—or perhaps both—allowed her to return to wakefulness at the exact moment when they planned to descend. It was quite an interesting development, particularly since Raia was beginning to realize that they were each experiencing similar, though less obvious, feelings of alertness related with their nightly trips through the trapdoor.

She climbed from her bed, retrieved each of her bundles from beneath the comforter, took one of Cliodne's lanterns, and walked to the base of the woven rug. Raia felt the cluster of her sisters joining her as they pulled back the woven floor piece to reveal the trapdoor and, a second later, the materializing ring. She watched as Thaleia pulled it up, stepping back for the familiar wind that blew through the room. One by one, the princesses descended the stone staircase, succumbing to the inevitable pull of the magic.

Author's Note: As always, reviews are very much appreciated. Just go ahead and click that little button down there and let us know what we're doing right or wrong!


	10. Secrets Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Petra rarely remembered the details of her dreams. Most of the time, she could recall the feelings or emotions they evoked—whether triumph, disappointment, anger, or delight—but it was uncommon for her to have a tangible memory of a dream.

Deep in blissful oblivion, she dearly hoped that this would be a dream that she would remember—if only for the exhilaration rushing through her veins. Her dream-self demonstrated a dexterity that her real self had never possessed; she dashed in and out of shadows along the manor's main hallway, entirely disappearing from sight only to reappear again several feet away. Her heart pounded as she stole from corner to corner, avoiding the few people who meandered by, their faces a blur. All the while, she maintained a distinct visual of her prize. She didn't know what it was, but her dream-self communicated the urgency that she _must _possess it at all costs. As Petra drew closer to her object, it slowly began to come into focus and take a recognizable shape. She felt a flash of comprehension as her hands closed around the mysterious object and—

_BOOM!_

Petra jolted awake, the images of her dream trickling away from her conscious memory like water through her fingers. She groggily pulled down the blankets covering her head to glare at the culprit who had so obnoxiously woken her by slamming the door—only to be startled into true wakefulness by the unwelcome sight of her father standing at the entrance to the princesses' bedchamber. Despite the earliness of the hour, Gustave was already replete fully dressed and impeccably quaffed, with velvet waistcoat and gem-encrusted crown. Upon seeing the glint of the circlet in the sunlight, Petra felt the same flash of recognition from her dream…but no; it would be too difficult. She wasn't her dream self, after all. And there were more pressing matters at hand.

Lit from behind by the early morning sun, King Gustave was flanked on either side by Valeria and Justine, the maid usually charged with cleaning the princesses' domain.

"Rise and shine, girls," boomed Gustave, stepping further into the room. He walked to the nearest window at the head of Cliodne's bed, whipping open the curtains and sending a stream of sunlight over the second-born's form.

"Father…" Cliodne groaned, drawing her covers over her curly head of curls to evade the blinding rays and snuggling further into the darkness. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Truly, Father," Petra protested, mustering up her best _what-are-you-thinking?_ look. "Couldn't this wait for a little later in the day?" This seemed to have little effect on her father, however, as he merely returned her look with one of his own.

"It certainly cannot," he said. "If I were to wait until later, you'd all be scattered to who-knows-where. I needed to speak to all of you at one time, and as our last dinner meeting apparently didn't convey my meaning well enough, I thought I'd make my statement in a different way."

He had successfully gained the princesses' undivided attention. Callia and Thaleia were sitting straight up in bed, rubbing sleep from their eyes. Callia had drawn her knees up to her chest, whereas Thaleia regarded her father with a saucy—albeit sleepy—defiance. Eurielle and Cliodne didn't look nearly so alert, both still relatively prone under the covers, with only their heads sticking out. They each blinked sluggishly through their thick lashes, and Eurielle in particular seemed to find it difficult to focus on their father. Only Eralie and Raia, the early risers of the group even from the start of their adventure, seemed relatively conscious. In fact, their presence in the room and in their beds attested to the early hour. Petra could never remember a time when she had woken up early enough to catch either princess still in bed.

"When I spoke with you a month ago, I hoped that I would witness a change in your behavior," said Gustave, strolling around the foot of each princess' bed, his sharp glance belying his leisurely stride. "Considering the measures I have taken to ensure your safety inside this manor, I had hoped that you would respect my wishes as your father and your protector."

"But I was apparently over-hopeful. Valeria tells me—" he indicated the rotund woman standing behind him— "that my daughters have continued to lie abed far past the waking hour, and that they—you—are tired and secretive during the few hours you are awake. Furthermore, Justine has informed me that in cleaning your bedchamber and retrieving your laundry, your clothes and shoes have been in unacceptable states of disrepair. Again, I must conclude from these clues that my daughters are somehow sneaking from the castle at night and doing who-knows-what in some unknown place." Eurielle shifted uneasily, but stopped when Petra shot her a quelling look. Their father ignored the slight disturbance as he continued. "But what I fail to understand is—how? For Valeria and Justine have not been the only ones to report news of my daughters' activities."

Gustave paused for dramatic effect. Petra couldn't see his face, for he had turned his back on the princesses to face his informants, but she could well picture his serious expression. Her estimation was confirmed an instant later, when he wheeled around to address his daughters again.

"Have you forgotten about the guards I placed outside your door at night? They were supposed to prevent this from happening, but they have apparently failed—for not only are my daughters still wandering beyond their bedchamber at night, but my finest guards have been unable to discover anything about where they are going or how this is possible. In fact, they have not reported anything at all. By this, I must assume that however you are leaving your room at night, it is not by way of the door." He cast a searching look around the room, lingering on the bolted windows at the other end. Petra's gaze swept the room as well, though she fixedly refrained from sparing even a glance toward the rug and the hidden passageway.

Gustave returned his attention to the princesses. "So, my daughters, I must ask you once again to come clean about your activities. Where _are_ you going at night? The forest? The village? How have you been leaving your room without alerting the guards?" He studied the face of each girl in turn; Petra was practiced in maintaining a stoic expression, and this talent served her particularly well at this moment. She didn't dare look at her sisters, but hoped that they, too, remained as composed and apparently innocent as she.

When Gustave spoke again, his voice was dangerously quiet. "Nothing? None of my daughters care to be honest with me? I had hoped for better. So I shall do what I proposed to do a month ago: place an overnight watch _inside_ your room."

Eralie interjected, her voice surprisingly firm and her blue eyes blazing. "Father, if you mean to put a guard within the room, allow me to remind you that the times have not changed since the last time. It would have been improper a month ago, and it would still be improper now, to expose your daughters' reputations in such a way."

Gustave merely smiled. "So apparently my daughters would rather _not _have someone in their room at night? Your protests give me hope, my dear, that my new plan of action will succeed this time. But in answer to your question: no, I do not mean to put a palace guard inside your bedchamber for the entire village to whisper about. Instead, Justine—" the woman in question started upon hearing her name—"will bunk with you, and she will report to me _everything_ that takes place in this room after dark."

Petra felt an electric jolt run through her, her mind frantically racing to consider how to foil this quite brilliant plan of her father's. Her sisters appeared to be in similar states of panic or surprise, some more visible than others. Thaleia ran her hand through her snarled bedhead anxiously, working her wavy auburn hair into even more of a mess. Eurielle's mouth was hanging open, and Petra dearly hoped that a fly would swoop into it. Callia's face was screwed up in consternation, and Eralie's eyebrows had risen above her hairline. Petra kept her face passive and her muscles relaxed, however, as she stared down Gustave defiantly, noting with satisfaction that when his eyes fell on her, they were quick in darting away again. She made a big show of yawning as if her father's announcement hadn't disturbed her a whit.

Unruffled by Petra's behavior, Gustave looked supremely satisfied at the reactions of his remaining daughters. "Well, then. I will leave you to the rest of your day. After all, you'll surely wish to enjoy the morning now that you're awake."

He smiled, his eyes crinkling in a way that Petra usually loved, then politely took his leave of the room, ushering Justine and Valeria out in front of him. Before the door shut behind him, Gustave glanced back at his stupefied daughters, allowing Petra a glimpse of the smirk that had replaced his smile. She felt irritation build inside of her, and she took great satisfaction in glaring at the now-closed door and hoping that, by some chance, it had hit her father on his way out.

Silence pervaded the room after his exit, then noise burst out from every corner of the room as the princesses started talking simultaneously.

"Now what can we do?"

"But if Justine comes—"

"Did you see his face?"

"I never expected him to—"

"Horrible!"

"He looked so smug, I just wanted to—"

Petra cut off her heated rant, noticing Cliodne's disapproving look and her efforts to get their attention. Gradually, the uproar died down as each princess turned their attention to the curly-headed leader and voice of reason.

"I know this is unexpected," she said. "But we had to know something like this was bound to happen eventually. So let's not waste our time on complaining about it, let's actually figure out what to do."

Upon being met with silence, Cliodne huffed and spoke again.

"Well, obviously, it's going to be a lot more difficult to sneak down the passageway at night with a baby-sitter in the room, right? So maybe we should hold off for a while, let Father's suspicions die down. Maybe he'll remove Justine after a couple weeks if it looks like we've stopped going."

Petra whimpered at the very idea, a weak sound that she hated from the moment it left her lips. But she wasn't the only one to make a sound of complaint—even one so uncharacteristic. Raia moaned, Eurielle groaned, Eralie shook her head violently, and Callia—was Callia _crying_? Yep, two tears plopped onto her rosy cheeks, and her eyes were over-bright. Cliodne raised her hands, palms side out. Petra caught the flash of a ring on her left pinky finger, and felt the strangest urge to flex her fingers…but her impulse was stopped by her sisters' words.

"Okay, okay. I get it, I want to keep going, too. But what else can we do?" She was met with a barrage of half-cocked, desperate suggestions.

"Could we lock her out?" Eurielle asked.

"Oh, that'd be great," Petra snapped. "That'd really keep Father off our backs about the whole thing. If anything, he'd be even worse!"

"We could send her on an errand right before we leave," said Thaleia.

"But even if that worked the first time, there's no way it'd work more than once," Eralie said softly.

"Why can't we just wait until Justine falls asleep?" Callia suggested.

"No one sleeps that deeply," said Cliodne. "And besides, it'd be too risky. She might wake up while we were gone and follow us down the trapdoor."

"What if she couldn't wake up?" Raia asked.

Petra glanced at her red-headed sister quizzically, wondering at her cryptic answer. Eurielle spoke up tentatively: "You don't mean…we're not going to _kill_ her, are we?"

"Of course not!" Raia admonished.  
"Then how wouldn't she wake up?"

"We could use valerian root." Her answer was met with blank stares from all of her sisters. Suddenly, Thaleia spoke drily: "Okay, I don't think we need to know what would happen if you crossed the housekeeper with the gardener."

Raia rolled her eyes and explained, "It's a plant that makes people sleep. I've seen Cook make it into a draught after one of the kitchen maids started sleepwalking, and Mollie said that it gives you the longest, deepest sleep of your life."

"I could use some of that right now," Thaleia said through a gigantic yawn.

Raia spared another glance at her twin, then continued. "My point is, how difficult would it be to give Justine a dose of valerian root sleeping draught in her dinner, or a cup of tea or wine before we go to bed? From my understanding, it takes a couple of hours to take effect, so no one would be the wiser. And we could still…you know."

Smiles slowly crept back onto the princesses' faces as they each contemplated the idea. It just might work.

Author's Note: Thank you to our wonderful readers and reviewers, and special thanks to Braindead Malfunctions. We really appreciate all the insight and questions, and please let us know in the coming chapters if there are questions that you feel were unanswered.

As always, reviews are much appreciated and beloved.


	11. Secrets Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

It did work. For weeks and weeks, it worked.

Eurielle smiled happily as she thought of how Raia's plan had gone off without a hitch. Petra had procured a large bundle of the sleep-inducing root from the palace gardens, which Raia had dried and crushed into a fine odorless powder. Each night, the princesses offered Justine a valerian root-laced cup of wine upon her entrance to their chamber nearly an hour before their scheduled bedtime. The first night, Raia had claimed that it was only fitting that Justine join them in this "nightly routine," and the woman seemed little the wiser that the routine had only been invented that morning. The maid was more than willing to accept the offering, as she was unused to such luxuries, and of course agreed not to divulge that they'd given her wine while "on duty." In keeping with the routine, the princesses joined her in partaking of the (undrugged) drink so as to avoid any suspicion. Eurielle had never really liked the taste of red wine very much, so she just kept her lips closed and pretended to drink and swallow, her eyes trained on Justine's face until an elbow jab from Petra reminded her to look away.

The initial effects of the sedative were gradual—so much so that neither Valeria nor Justine suspected anything when the housekeeper visited at her usual time. Not long after the door was locked, however, the younger woman displayed the classic signs of sleepiness: excessive yawning, unsteadiness of gaze, and the tendency to keel over on the nearest piece of furniture. Of course, Eurielle hadn't actually _seen_ these behaviors for herself. The first night, she had awoken from her own sleep when Justine collapsed into the corner armchair, her slightly-open mouth emitting the faintest of snores. Cliodne and Thaleia had carried the maid from the chair to her cushy collapsible cot in order to make her more comfortable and to keep her from getting a crick in her neck the next morning. Justine's complete lack of reaction when moving her had convinced Cliodne that nothing short of an earthquake would wake the drugged servant, so she gave her official sanction to descending into the sanctum as usual.

As she stepped into the brightly lit room, Eurielle breathed deeply, inhaling the magic that permeated through the air and into her very skin. As always, the last vestiges of her exhaustion were wiped away; indeed, she never felt more energized than when she was in the Room, and this was partially the reason why she felt compelled to return each night.

The princesses fanned out across the room, each with a complicit understanding of her role and responsibilities for the night's activities. Though their adventures in the sanctum had initially begun with the spontaneity of their bedtime skits, the past six months had witnessed a change in the context of their storylines—or, as things progressed, story_line_. For they had not changed the skit for many nights now, instead choosing to perfect and reenact a story of Callia's that they'd all taken a liking to.

For all intensive purposes, the story was perfect for each of their preferences. It had the right amount of danger, intrigue, and adventure to suit Thaleia and Petra, and its dramatic scenes perfectly fit Eurielle's, Raia's, and Eralie's expectations. As for Cliodne, she was satisfied that the female characters had the right balance of femininity and independence to make them interesting heroines, rather than tiresome. In both respects, both the story and their acting pursuits had flourished beyond their wildest dreams, and each princess found her natural role in either the production or the story itself.

More and more, the princesses had been relying on Callia to dictate the story, rather than merely narrating. She was the natural storyteller of the group, and it seemed only natural that she be the one to keep track of the story itself. Eurielle, for one, had never before cared whether their skits made sense—it was all in good fun after all—but Cliodne insisted that Callia attempt to keep the story as justifiable as possible. Considering Eurielle's and Thaleia's penchants for throwing curve balls, Callia certainly kept herself busy in constantly revising the script and making changes to scenes that didn't flow on stage.

Eurielle prided herself on her acting abilities, but she knew that some of her sisters, particularly Cliodne, were a little weak in learning her lines and expressing the true aura of her character, however minor it was. Cliodne more than made up for her deficiencies by her invaluable direction and guidance. She had fallen into her natural leadership abilities by acting as the director of their production, and if her short monologue as the quirky housemaid sounded rather stilted at times, then so be it.

As self-appointed set designer, Raia had at first expressed her disappointment that the sanctum made her job somewhat unnecessary. The gemstone mosaic behind the stage that she had found so extraordinary upon their first visit soon proved to be even more than it appeared. The scene changed with each entrance into the room, the gemstones impossibly rearranging into a different landscape while still retaining its color palette. However, Raia soon turned her artistic skills to other pursuits—namely, costume design. It was a wonder what that girl could do with a needle and a little imagination.

She, Cliodne, and Callia worked closely together in creating their "vision," as they called it. All three were so involved in their production responsibilities and in making the play move smoothly, that they were not overly interested in acting major parts. Instead, they took responsibility for filling in the minor roles whenever needed…therefore making room for the actresses.

Eurielle was sure that Eralie was born to be a heroine. The play was just an excuse for her to be what she was meant to be all along. Eurielle personally thought—though she would never admit it to Callia or to Eralie—that the former had unintentionally modeled the story's heroine, Mirium, off the eldest sister. Just like the actress, the heroine's dreamy exterior and romantic nature concealed an astute mind, strong character, and an even fiercer heart. In short, Eralie's character allowed her to play the part of the strong woman hidden within an apparently passive heroine. In a way, her acting was perfect because she technically wasn't acting at all.

Thaleia was born to be…well, not a hero _exactly_, but definitely _heroic_. Eurielle was convinced that there wasn't a better swordsman even among her father's guards…and that was saying something. Always the tomboy, she flourished in this role as Liam, the dashing nobleman's son, though Eurielle personally thought that Thaleia's face was too pretty to pass for a man, even a young one. Well, it did help a lot that Thaleia excelled in acting, even more than Eralie. Her powerful acting and line delivery always left Eurielle feeling weak-kneed and awed.

If Thaleia's part left Eurielle feeling awestruck, Petra just scared her. Cast as Captain Blackguard, the criminal mastermind and terror of the high seas, she played her part with relish. Not only that, but she seemed to truly enjoy her unofficial role as the "procurer" of all the props and pieces. Eurielle suspected that Petra liked having an "official" sanction for her less-than-admirable habits.

As for Eurielle herself, she didn't really have a preference between working behind-the-scenes or on stage. On the one hand, she was playing the part of Petra's evil yet feeble-minded minion, and she felt that she portrayed the character very well, thank you very much. Even though her role didn't _fit_ her like Eralie's or Thaleia's, or even Petra's, she relished the challenge of portraying Mr. Spronk's immature absurdities and loudmouthed characteristics, because it was so opposite from her own personality. What fit just as well, though, was the work she conducted with music and sound effects, trying to compile a repertoire of sounds and eclectic tunes for use during the production. She had to admit, she got so involved in making sure that the _sounds_ of the scene went smoothly that she sometimes skipped a line or missed her entrance completely. Callia was usually the picture of patience when this happened, Cliodne less so, but Petra could be downright mean about it.

For the most part, the princesses' production improved more with each midnight rendezvous. The transitions became more seamless, and even when Eurielle misplaced a line or Callia fell off the stage in her enthusiasm, they were becoming more and more comfortable with the play itself and with each other's quirks, strengths, and weaknesses.

And that was the way Eurielle liked it.

Eurielle could not seem to stop raving about the previous night's excitement. It wasn't every night, after all, that the princesses were able to get through the entire story without a single misstep or redo. For the first time in months, she'd awoken that morning with little problem, the euphoria still running through her veins. And when Eurielle was excited, she liked to talk. A lot. And to anyone who would listen (though of course in this case, Eurielle knew to keep her confidantes within the circle of her sisters).

At this moment, the youngest princess was talking the ears off of Callia as the two walked together toward the dining room for dinner. Eurielle nearly always knew when she was talking too much or too quickly, but Callia was such a great listener that she never felt the need to slow down or limit her words. Now if she'd been talking to Petra, it would have been a different story.

"And then when Petra stomped up to Thaleia and said Captain Blackguard's line about throwing the fish over the side with the rest of the seaweed, and Thaleia added that bit about even fish having spines, unlike jellyfish—did you add that to the script?" she barely waited for Callia's affirming nod before continuing. "And everyone laughed, and Eralie came in _perfectly_ about the pirate ship and its captives having more spine than its captain...that was _so _funny!" She giggled madly, joined by Callia a moment later.

"What was so funny?"

Both Callia and Eurielle jumped at the sudden appearance of Sir Bionne, who rounded the corner in front of them, his arms full of parchment. He waited expectantly for an entertaining story about the source of their mirth, his eyebrows raised and his usual kind smile quirking the corners of his mouth. Callia returned his smile relatively easily, but Eurielle felt her fair cheeks fill with heat. It was nearly impossible for her to talk to her father's attractive steward without turning the color of a tomato. This time, her usual embarrassment was compounded by the fact that he'd nearly overheard something that could have betrayed their secret, thanks to her idiotic jabbering.

_Stupid!_ She berated herself, then scrambled for an explanation. Callia seemed hardly distressed at all about their current predicament. In fact, she certainly seemed to be taking her time answering Sir Bionne's question! The green-eyed princess turned to Eurielle, shoulders still shaking with theatric laughter as she attempted to communicate something without speaking. Eurielle thought she understood what Callia was requesting of her—she had to speak up, make up a joke or story to cover their tracks. Apparently, Callia was not good at thinking up a story on the spot.

"We were talking about…seaweed!" she blurted the first thing that came to mind. She heard Callia gasp behind her, and chose to think it was motivated by her approval of Eurielle's quick thinking. "Did you know that it sticks to boats? And people can eat it…probably?"

Sir Bionne regarded both princesses confusedly. "And…that was funny?"

"Oh, no, that wasn't the funny part! I said that…Thaleia's hair looks like seaweed! When it's wet! Like after she got caught in the rain during her ride last week and nearly caught cold!" She giggled maniacally, encouraging Callia to join her in enjoying the "shared" joke.

"I see…" He trailed off, still looking from one princess to the other. He didn't seem to know what to think of her story. Feeling his gaze on her, Eurielle was sure that her cheeks were redder than ever by now. Forget a tomato…she probably looked like Snow White's apple! But he still seemed to expect more explanation of their story, so Eurielle scrambled for further response.

"Yeah! And—" her brilliance was cut short by Callia's hand on her wrist. Bidding Sir Bionne goodbye, the older princess dragged Eurielle roughly past him and down the corridor toward the dining room. Eurielle cast one look back over her shoulder at the bemused steward, hoping beyond hope that their behavior had not awakened any suspicions he might have had.

She felt a bit irritated at Callia for interrupting so rudely, but then thought better of it. After all, it certainly wouldn't do for them to be late for dinner.

Eurielle applauded Callia's reasoning when they entered the dining room to find their father and the remainder of their sisters already gathered. The tardy princesses each bestowed the expected kiss on their father's cheek, murmured their "good evenings," and then split to take their seats at the table.

The wait staff had clearly been awaiting their arrival, as they brought the first course to the table almost before Eurielle could sit down. For several minutes, the family ate in silence as the servants continued adding dishes to the table in the typical family-style setting.

Eurielle stared at her soup spoon and vaguely remembered a time when she was more likely to use it as a cannon than a utensil. Now, such an action seemed unnecessary, messy, and—dare she acknowledge it?—immature. As her mother would say, "A princess may not act like royalty at all times, but she knows when courtesy and manners are necessary." Of course, Eurielle was really too young to remember her mother when alive, so she didn't _really_ know if Meleprene would have thought this at all. But she always imagined Meleprene giving the same sort of advice as Callia gave to her wisest characters, so it seemed to fit the situation.

As she spooned another mouthful of creamy broccoli soup past her lips, Eurielle was suddenly all-too-aware of the absolute silence of the room. Lately, it was customary for the king and his daughters to eat in relative silence, but they had usually attempted to keep up _some_ type of communication. This tense quiet was unnatural.

_The tension's so thick, we could eat it!_ Eurielle cracked a small smile at her witty thought, then glanced around the table, trying to locate the source of the discomfort. Callia seemed perfectly comfortable as she buttered a roll, as did Cliodne in sipping from her goblet. Thaleia and Raia, sitting side-by-side, moved in tandem in bringing their spoons to their mouths like the twins they were. Eurielle was mesmerized by the perfection of their movements, especially since they seemed unaware of it. She tore her eyes away from the twins to glance towards Petra, who was sitting next to her. Even the sticky-fingered princess seemed distinctly unruffled, though she had a comparably limited amount of purloined food around her today.

In glancing down the line towards Eralie, however, Eurielle finally located something unusual. Eralie had yet to touch a bite of food. Her utensils remained unused in front of her, and instead of giving any attentions at all to her victuals, she gazed fixedly at the head of the table. And it was no wonder! Eurielle didn't have to ponder any longer why her sisters were acting so abnormally normal; they were _avoiding_ looking at their father.

Eurielle marveled that she hadn't noticed the look on her father's face when she first came in. It was like a thunderstorm descended upon the table—no, a hurricane—no, a cold front. Because that was _definitely_ what was causing the atmosphere of the table to freeze over. Gustave's brows were drawn together into a low line on his forehead, shadowing his piercing gaze. His cheeks were slightly flushed with ire, and his jaw was clenched so tightly that Eurielle suspected it would hurt for hours afterward. For the most part, he glared down the center of the table, not meeting anyone's eyes (not that there were any eyes to meet other than Eralie's and Eurielle's, anyhow).

Eurielle felt her spine stiffen as she tried to straighten in her chair. She certainly had little doubt as to the reason for her father's anger. She wasn't stupid, after all, and neither was he. He couldn't have failed to notice that Judith's presence had done nothing for the princesses' pattern of behavior. No, the only question in her mind at this point was whether she should break the silence, or wait for it to be broken by Gustave himself?

Eralie took the decision from her hands. In a voice so tentatively soft that it was barely audible even in the stillness, she asked, "Father?" The other princesses dropped their charade, glancing fearfully toward the head of the table.

That was all the invitation that Gustave needed.

"I have asked you twice now to be up front with me," he spoke quietly. "I'm not going to give you another chance to lie to me."

"Father, we haven't—" said Eralie, laying a reassuring hand on his arm. Her touch seemed to unleash even more of his ire. He roughly brushed off the comfort as his voice rose in volume and intensity.

"NO! _You_ listen while I'm talking! I have tried to protect you your entire lives, and you repay me by lying, sneaking, and keeping secrets! After everything I have done, you insist upon throwing your safety into the trash with your tattered slippers! Well, no more, ladies! I have had it! Guards outside the door didn't work, Judith _inside_ the room didn't work! Apparently, this mystery is not to be solved by anyone within these walls, and not without some incentive!"

If Eurielle thought the dining room had been tensely quiet before, it was nothing to how it was right now. She could even hear the clinking of the pots being washed in the kitchen three rooms away. Approaching footsteps rang outside the door, preceding Sir Bionne's entrance into the quiet room. Remembering her earlier embarrassment in the hallway, Eurielle flushed again, but the steward spared her little more than a glance.

"Excellent timing, Sir Bionne," Gustave bit out, seeming to find it difficult to force his voice into a civil tone even when addressing someone to whom his anger wasn't directed. "Stand here and take note of this."

Not even waiting for Ty to stand behind him in the place indicated, the king stood to his feet, his chair scraping harshly against the floor. His voice boomed across the table.

"I am issuing a royal proclamation across Kyoria and to its neighboring countries. From this day forth, any man—whether prince, duke, royal, or goatherd—who wishes to undertake solving the mystery of the princesses of Kyoria, he shall be allowed to choose one of them as his bride and shall stand to inherit the throne." Eurielle felt as though she had been doused with a bucket of ice, followed by a vat of boiling water. Her protestations and those of her sisters were silenced with a look from their father.

"Each candidate will have one night to discover where it is you go each night, how you escape without detection, and what you do while there. They will, of course, have to stay in the room itself—"

"Father!"

"But you can't!"

"What about—"

Gustave raised his voice to speak over his daughters' outbursts. "Which will be allowable, as Judith will also remain inside your room to act as a chaperone. We will put up a partition to maintain your privacy, and he will only be allowed in ten minutes' time before you retire. As for the guards outside the room…they will be removed for the present, as they are needed elsewhere at that hour. But, be warned and advised that they will still be tasked to inform me if you venture out-of-doors at night. As for the princes…should any candidate fail in solving this mystery—and I'm sure they won't—he shall be forever banished from Kyoria."

And with that shocking announcement, he swept imperiously from the room, leaving his plate full and his daughters slack-jawed in his wake. Sir Bionne glanced uneasily around the table.

"Forgive me, m'ladies," he spoke quietly. "But I will need to draft His Majesty's proclamation immediately if I am to make the morning post." His shoes clicked on the floor as he made his way past the table to pull open the door. Before exiting, however, he turned back to face them.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, and even in her numb state, Eurielle felt a flash of hot jealousy run through her as his eyes lingered on Eralie. She felt empty inside as the door closed behind him.

It was a night of silences. First during dinner itself, then before Sir Bionne's entrance and now again after their father's announcement, the table had fallen unnaturally quiet. Indeed, Eurielle wasn't sure if she'd ever be able to speak again.

"I've never seen him like that," Raia finally said, her timid voice breaking the stillness.

"None of us have," said Cliodne stoutly. She tried to appear unruffled, but Eurielle detected a slight tremor to her voice.

"I'm too young to get married," Eurielle whimpered plaintively. Her sisters turned to face the fifteen-year-old with varying looks of pity on their faces. None responded directly to her remark, though Raia reached across the table to lightly squeeze her hand.

"Maybe we've gone too far," Eralie voiced as if speaking each word was as painful as pulling a tooth.

"No, we haven't."

The princesses turned to face the speaker: Callia, the writer, the inventor, the narrator. Eurielle felt no surprise that it was she who advocated for the sanctum; after all, she had the most incentive to return, as her stories had flourished during the months they'd been visiting. What did surprise her, however, was the fervor and passion that blazed from Callia's green eyes, not to mention the determination that laced every word voiced by the soft-spoken girl.

"We haven't gone too far," she repeated. "_He _has. This is just too much. Father has always been overbearing, but now more than ever, he's restricting our freedoms. Before, he was content in disapproving our behaviors, but now he's trying to control our every move. He has Valeria, and Weston, and the guards, and Judith reporting on us!"

"I see what you're saying, Callia," Cliodne said logically. "But when does it end? Sure, we can drug the princes as with Judith, but is it really worth it to escape for a few hours to practice and perform a story that no one else will ever see?"

Eurielle felt a jolt when, instead of answering Cliodne directly, Callia turned to address her with a reminder of her own poignant words months before. "Eurielle, you told us before that we shouldn't be ashamed of who we are and what we like to do. Well, I don't know about anyone else, but I for one am very proud of what we've done and accomplished, and I find it worth fighting for." She turned back to address the logical princess.

"This is so much bigger than acting out a story, Clio. That's a big part of it, but only because of what it represents. Think about it: every night, when we go down that passageway into that great big room—we're free. No rules, no locked doors, no jailkeeper father making sure we stay in our pretty little prison or act like pretty little princesses. And that story is a big part of it. It lets me be the writer I've always wanted to be. Thaleia, you're the hero of your own story, and Eralie, you get to be a part of the dreamy romantic adventure."

"And Petra gets to be a criminal without doing anything illegal or going to jail!" Eurielle couldn't help quipping. She felt a rush of joy when everyone laughed, including Petra. The mood in the room had lightened considerably during the course of Callia's speech. Eurielle noticed that each of her sisters had varying measures of determination written into their faces. Unless the youngest princess was much mistaken, Callia's impassioned speech had bolstered their confidence as it had her own.

"You know what?" said Cliodne, extending her hand diagonally across the table. "Maybe it's not the most practical option, but for once, I'm willing to throw logic aside in favor of our freedom…and our story." Callia smiled at her support, placing her hand over Cliodne's and making a 45 degree angle with their arms.

Raia, who appeared to be a little choked up with emotion, said nothing as she placed her hand on top of Callia's, confirming Eurielle's suspicion of a sister hand circle. It was kitschy, and corny, and childish…and she loved it.

"I'm in!" she cried, adding her hand to the pile an instant before Eralie.

Petra quirked an ironic smile as her hand covered Eralie's. "What can I say? I like being the pirate."

Thaleia's grin was huge and incandescent as she added her affirmation. "And if Father thinks any of us are going to sit aside while some boorish, boring prince "wins" one of us, then he's in for a surprise!"

A/N: Hey to all our beloved readers! You know how you can let us know if you liked this new chapter? That's right, click on that little "review" link-you know you want to! And while you're at it, let us know which princess you'd like to see more of, because we are considering writing a sequel.

Also, keep an eye on our profile, because we have finished writing our satirical Twilight musical, Dazzle and Stretch. We'll be updating in a couple days-and don't be fooled; this musical should tickle the funny bones of Twi-hards and Twi-haters alike! Also, Harry Potter fans should check out our similar musical on our site, Riddle-Dee-De: The Voldemort Musical. It's our pride and joy.


	12. Secrets Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

The proclamation was sent out the next morning and set tongues wagging across the countryside, of the curious kingdom where the hand of a royal daughter was to be offered simply for solving a riddle. Men of all ranks and walks of life expressed interest in trying their hand at cracking the puzzle of the princesses of Kyoria, but the repercussions for failure seemed too great for many to risk. Kyorians of lower social status—though having the greatest incentives for trying to elevate themselves—were discouraged from the contest by the threat of banishment from their homeland and the fear of destitution in a foreign land, not only for them but also for their parents, siblings, and other dependents. Meanwhile, those from neighboring kingdoms were prevented from entering the contest merely through lack of funds and provisions that would enable them to travel. Therefore, one could conclude that, though the contest was offered to _any_ man willing and able, the only ones who _would_ take such a gamble were noblemen who had little to lose, everything to gain, plenty of time on their hands, and the arrogance to believe that outsmarting seven females would be a walk in the park.

These considerations, as explained by Cliodne to all of her sisters, did little in easing Thaleia's mind. She lived in constant apprehension that the next moment would bring an ominous knock announcing the arrival of the first blockhead with the gall to seek to win the hand of a princess. Her preoccupation with the prince contest took its toll on her usual activities; her swordplay suffered drastically and she fell from her horse for the first time in years. She almost began to wish that the first contestant would appear already, if only to end this insufferable limbo.

Her dubious wish was granted before she had time to regret it. Prince Tavle of Auchlin, the younger son of the ruler to the north, presented himself to King Gustave within a week of the ruler's proclamation, apologizing for his delay and attributing it to his need to collect a suitable retinue and hire a capable guide to read the maps.

Fortunately for Thaleia, she was able to keep out of Tavle's sight until the dinner hour due to her wide repertoire of convenient hiding places around the stables and adjoining fields. Cliodne and Eurielle were not so lucky, however. As Thaleia entered the dining room and took her seat, fixedly avoiding looking at the bejeweled person sitting to Gustave's left, she took note of the badly suppressed look of disgust on Cliodne's face.

Eurielle, leaning across the table, hissed wryly, "You just _wait_!"

Thaleia did not know what it was she was supposed to be waiting for. The room was relatively quiet, with only the clinks of silverware and the sounds of gazpacho being slurped from their spoons. Aside from being rather more elaborately dressed than anyone else sitting at the table, there was nothing particularly odd or offensive about Prince Tavle. It seemed as though he would give them no other incentive to hate him than simply being the first guinea pig to jump at their father's invitation.

And then he opened his mouth. Perhaps he felt that the silence was rather oppressive. Maybe he was accustomed to more stimulating conversation. Or maybe he just liked to hear the sound of his own voice. At any rate, Prince Tavle felt the need to remark to the princesses at large:

"During the tour of the castle, your benevolent father was magnanimous enough to show me your most excellent library. Might I ask whether you often have occasion to make use of it?"

Thaleia did not feel herself equal to match his formal language; her hesitation was obviously shared by several of her sisters, as they all looked expectantly at the three eldest for a response.

"Indeed, sir," Eralie responded softly, daintily wiping her mouth with her napkin. "We all make use of the library and its resources almost daily. If you should wish to find a particular book yourself, my sister Callia would be most equipped to assist you, as she is best acquainted with the room's layout and literature."

Prince Tavle's ingratiating smile encompassed all the princesses, though he turned his attention to directly address Callia.

"I do so admire ladies who know how to read. It gives such an impression of intelligence." A stunned pause followed his response, though Tavle seemed unaware of the nature of the silence. Thaleia's spoon halted midway to her mouth, and her jaw dropped open even further. Eurielle gave her a significant look, as if to say _Didn't I tell you?_ Several of the girls stared at him in disbelief, as though they were wondering if they'd misheard or misunderstood his implication.

But it didn't stop there.

Prince Tavle seemed to have an inordinate talent for unintentionally sticking his foot in his mouth. He was completely oblivious to the offensiveness of his attempted compliments, all of which were received in much the same manner as his first.

To Cliodne: "Your hands are so delicate and fragile, you must be quite skilled at needlepoint."

To Eurielle: "It's wonderful to become acquainted with a girl when she has yet to bloom into her beauty."

To Thaleia and Raia: "I have always been fascinated by the notion of having a twin! Imagine, you could live one another's life and not a one would be the wiser."

To Eralie: "You have a particularly fresh and youthful complexion for the oldest of seven sisters."

To Petra: "I find it pleasurable to make the acquaintance of a lady with a hearty appetite. Far too many women find it fashionable to be thin."

Thaleia could see that, despite his stoic expression, her father was not completely immune to the ineptitude of their 'guest'. With every subsequent statement by Prince Tavle, his shoulders moved in the slightest of winces, as if steeling himself. Thaleia had to restrain herself from reverting to her old habits and chucking a baked potato at the prince's carefully coiffed head. Raia's eyes were full of tears—a sign that either indicated deep emotion or that she was hopping mad. Knowing her as she did, Thaleia was willing to wager her solid gold fencing foil on the latter. Similar expressions of ire were reflected in all of her sisters' faces, with the exception of Petra. As always, Petra's face looked as though it had been etched in stone, expressionless and blank. The only indication of her true feelings was held in her fist: a soup spoon that had been bent nearly in two from the pressure of her thumb.

The only good thing about Prince Tavle's overtly obsequious nature was that, so intent on complimenting each of the princesses, neither he nor Gustave noticed when Cliodne emptied a small vial into his wine glass. The princesses had experimented with the dosages of the valerian root in order to determine the proper amount that would ensure that their victim would fall asleep at the exact moment when they wanted him to: not so early that he would be dozing at the dinner table, yet not so late that he could prevent them from their midnight exploits.

At the earliest possible moment, Thaleia all but fled from the dinner table to the temporary sanctity of their room. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she shuddered at the thought that even here, they would be expected to play host to their guest, according to the stipulations of the competition itself.

One by one, her sisters trickled through the door, varying degrees of disgust and irritation on their faces. Rather than retreating to their individual beds, they joined Thaleia on hers, their skirts fanning over the covers in a rainbow of different shades. Eralie, the last to arrive, informed them, "Father invited the prince to join him in a nightcap before he showed him to...before he showed him upstairs. He said that would give us plenty of time to prepare for bed."

Thaleia nodded woodenly, the corner of her mouth twitching in an instinctive grimace. "I hope the root works quickly tonight. I don't know how much more I can take."

Eurielle was the only one who giggled, albeit dryly. The princesses rose from their places on Thaleia's bed and began their nightly routines, changing their clothes as quickly as possible so as not to be caught off guard when the telltale knock came.

By the time the door opened to admit Judith, the seven sisters were clothed and sitting in their respective beds.

"Good ev'nin', your Majesties," she said cheerfully, curtseying and making her way to her own cot in the corner. "Things are a mite diff'rent t'night, yeah?" She fluffed her pillow absentmindedly.

Thaleia chuckled without an ounce of humor. "Indeed they are, Judith."

"I s'pect we'll have to forego our little routine in light o' the prince's arrival." By the tone of her voice, this was the most regretted repercussion of Prince Tavle's visit.

Raia swung her slippered feet over the edge of her bed and stood. "Of course not! We've all come to enjoy and rely upon it. I don't see the harm, so long as he has not yet arrived." She pulled a crystal decanter from inside her trunk. Thaleia leapt from beneath her covers to help her twin pour the wine, shielding Judith's glass from view with her arm as Raia slipped the dose of valerian root into the goblet as always—a larger dose than they had given to the prince, as the effects needed to be more immediate.

They dispersed the wine and, raising their goblets in their customary toast, all eight women drank deeply. Thaleia jerked at the sound of a knock on the door, the last few drops from her glass spilling onto the floor. She exchanged a panicked glance with Raia, Cliodne, and even Justine.

"Hide it, hide it!" she hissed, shoving her empty goblet under her bed and using the corner of her nightgown to mop the drops of wine from the floorboards. Settling back into her pillow, she watched warily as Judith checked again that all evidence of the wine had disappeared before opening the door to admit Gustave, Valeria, and, of course, Prince Tavle.

For the first time all evening, Prince Tavle chose silence, perhaps realizing that the delicacy of the situation was uncomfortable enough for all involved parties. He followed a step behind King Gustave, flaring his cape out impressively as if trying to create the illusion of it blowing in the wind. Thaleia rolled her eyes. With the sapphires sewn into the hem, she doubted that anything short of hurricane gales could budge the fabric of his cape.

Gustave stopped in the middle of the chamber and pointed towards the far left corner of the room, where two rolling partitions had been set up around an additional cot. This tiny space was the assigned 'guest room' for the contestants, and was clearly not meant to be the most comfortable, as the men were not supposed to be sleeping, in any case. As Tavle moved to claim his spot, Gustave broke his self-imposed silence for the first time.

"I must ask you to remember, Prince Tavle, the reason for your presence here. If you are able to solve the mystery behind my daughters' odd behavior within the course of this night, you will have the choice of one of them as your bride. I grant you this on my word as king."

Tavle seemed about to interrupt with no doubt another questionable compliment, but Gustave continued without heeding him.

"Should you fail, however, you will leave this castle tomorrow and never step foot here again. Do we understand one another?"

The prince seemed a bit cowed by the king's imposing manner, but still managed a slight speech in response: "As ever, Your Majesty is both gracious and just, and I perfectly acquiesce and comprehend the stipulations of your competition. I know that your daughters are the loveliest and most accomplished maids that Kyoria has to offer, and I welcome the challenge in proving my own worth to marry into your respectable family, despite the risks." Gustave's lips tightened almost imperceptibly to a stranger's eyes, but Thaleia smirked upon recognizing the sign of her father's annoyance, having been on the receiving end of that look numerous times.

The king turned to depart from the room, then paused and turned back around. "One thing more, Prince Tavle. Should you attempt anything…untoward…in your behavior towards my daughters, you will find that banishment will be the least of your worries. This I swear to you, on my honor as king."

Thaleia felt a rush of love for her father upon hearing this addition to her speech, and yet, considering that his proclamation was the reason for Tavle's presence in the first place, she still felt guilt-free in pulling the wool over his eyes. Gustave exited the room, followed shortly thereafter by Valeria, who quietly bestowed her good night wishes on the girls, then left, casting disapproving looks at the shadow of Tavle behind the partition.

Left alone with the princesses at last, Prince Tavle tried vainly to engage them in conversation.

"I must say, I'm somewhat disappointed that your windows are so small," he began, his voice accompanying a rustling nose that Thaleia supposed meant he was settling onto his cot. "I should have liked to see the beautiful, starlit sky at night…as beautiful as the prettiest of you princesses." An awkward silence followed this statement; Thaleia wasn't sure what to think of this one, whether to laugh or challenge him to a duel. She would have won, anyway.

Petra spoke up at last, saying, "Well, then, that's good to know…good night."

Tavle didn't seem to take Petra's thinly veiled hint, nor did he seem to hear Eurielle's deep, loud, and obnoxiously fake snoring coming from the opposite side of the room. "Yes, the stars can be quite beautiful, you see. I remember when I was just—"

Prince Tavle trailed off mid-sentence, snores replacing the words that no one cared enough to hear. On silent feet, Thaleia stole over to the two spare cots, checking each one to ensure that its occupant was fast asleep. The familiar deep breathing of Justine mingled with the prince's light, airy snores. She shook him hard to make sure that it was truly the root that had taken effect and not simply exhaustion.

"Prince Tavle? Sir?"

Snores were her only answer.

"Sir Foot-in-the-Mouth?" Eurielle said in a sing-song voice. Her weak joke was rewarded with a few small chuckles as the six other princesses arose to join Thaleia in a cluster around the inert form of the sleeping royal.

Raia leaned in and studied his face intently before nodding in satisfaction. "He's out."

Petra moved forward and grabbed Prince Tavle's arms none-too-gently. "Thaleia, help me move him."

"What?" Callia asked. "Why?"

"Because I don't want him in this room any longer than is needed. And especially not alone, even asleep."

"But how are you going to get out?" Cliodne hissed. "The door's locked."

Petra shot her a wounded look. "You don't really think that after years of being locked into my own room, I wouldn't have figured out a way to get out?" Her question clearly didn't require an answer. "Now, Thaleia, if you don't mind…"

Thaleia grabbed one booted foot, and Cliodne the other. The princesses heaved, and, between the three of them, were able to easily support Prince Tavle's deadweight. It would be a trial moving him through the castle without being seen, but she had no doubt that they could manage it with Petra's superior knowledge of the lesser-traveled passageways.

"Where did you have in mind?" Thaleia grunted.

Petra's smile was almost evil. "Just trust me."

Thaleia expected an extreme reaction. It was therefore no surprise when Gustave made another early visit to the princesses' bedchamber the next morning. He stormed in the door, startling all but Eurielle awake. Following close behind him was Prince Tavle. Both men were shaking, Gustave from anger and Tavle from—Thaleia could only presume, considering where they'd left him—fear.

"_You left him on the roof_?" Gustave bellowed, his face purpling. Tavle winced at the mere word. Eurielle jerked awake, joining her sisters in consciousness.

Petra sat up in bed, stretching her arms above her head with as much leisure as a cat. "But Father, we were only trying to be good hostesses."

Gustave swelled in indignation. "Is this what you call hospitality?"

Petra's smile was nothing short of angelic. "He said he wanted to see the stars. We assumed he knew how to get down."

The king opened and closed his mouth several times, at such a loss for words that he resembled a carp clothed in royal purple. Finding nothing at all to say, he contented himself with sending a fierce glare around the room, throwing his hands up in the air and stomping his way out of the chamber. The violent _thunk_ of his boots punctuated his anger in a way that words never could. Prince Tavle meekly followed him from the room, seemingly unsure whether _all_ of King Gustave's anger was directed towards his daughters, or whether _he_ might not receive his own share for failing in his appointed task.

The door had only just closed behind Tavle's departing figure when Eurielle squealed, "Pet, you're a _genius_!"

Petra pulled off a look of proud modesty as she received similar sentiments from her other sisters. Thaleia, glancing cautiously at Judith's still sleeping form, ventured to whisper, "So…what should we do with the next one?"

A/N You just wait. Now it's getting _really_ good. Don't forget to leave a review telling us what you thought about the latest update, and if you happen to mention which of the princesses you'd like to see more of in a possible sequel, that'd be great, too. Also, check out our profile page for the debut of Dazzle and Stretch: The Twilight Musical. Shameless plug? You bet. Are we ashamed? Not a whit.


	13. Secrets Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

_28 September 1707_

_Again, I take up my quill to write of the unusual occurrences that have happened around the castle lately, particularly since His Majesty issued the proclamation for the prince contest almost three months ago. In that time, we have yet to go more than a couple weeks without having a guest arrive to try their hand at winning the hand of one of the princesses._

_Though I understand His Majesty's motives for implementing this competition, I can't help but regret the trouble it brings to the household and our daily routine, especially since many of the contestants have been less than pleasant in their treatment of the servants, the household staff, and the princesses themselves. I also can't help but notice that, though we have had several visits and princes try their hand at the contest thus far, they have all failed. It certainly seems to me as though this competition is a fruitless endeavor, but who am I to question the judgment of a king?_

_The princesses have succeeded in keeping their secret. After many nights of observing them at dinner, I believe I have determined how they've been able to accomplish this. A few nights ago, I happened to see Princess Cliodne slipping a vial of some substance into Prince Delvin's goblet. I suspect that this unknown substance—it looked to be a powder—is actually a sedative of sorts, to ensure that the contestant remains safely unconscious and oblivious to their secret. Though I know my duty to the king, I can't bring myself to tell him about his daughters' methods. In fact, I am partly relieved that their actions have prevented any of the princes from taking advantage of their sleeping arrangements, or even winning the contest altogether. Not to cast aspersions on any of their characters, but I have had serious doubts about each of the men who have entered._

_The first contestant, Prince Tavle of Auchlin, did not receive a good reception from anyone in the palace. My own acquaintance with him was limited, as I spent the majority of his visit arranging space in the stable for his six carriage horses, not to mention clearing space in the adjoining field for the carriage itself, which was at least twice as large as King Gustave's finest. Far from being impressive, it seemed nothing if not unwieldy, and very inconvenient for his hosts. It all came to naught; I received word at six the next morning that Prince Tavle had been found climbing the roof near the kitchen's chimney, shouting for help in getting down. When questioned, he was unable to give any response other than a muttered "Maybe they're not so beautiful after all." We are unsure as to whether he was referring to the stars or the princesses themselves. The princesses were just as tight-lipped, revealing nothing save that they had thought the Prince knew how to get down from the roof. After that debacle, I never missed another dinner—I found them far too entertaining._

_The next contestant to appear was Lord Culwich of Yugolf, a duke who lives just beyond the northwestern border of Kyoria. It was a good thing that his property was not located within the country itself, or his banishment would have been problematic. In person, Culwich was a rotund individual who put away more food than the entire royal family combined…for the last few weeks, even. The princesses all seemed to share a marked disgust over his eating habits and physical appearance, not to mention his personal hygiene. At more than one point during the meal, I observed him using his dinner napkin to mop his sweat from his round, reddish face, then using the same napkin to wipe his mouth and hands clean of food. This surely didn't go unnoticed by the princesses; I particularly took note of Princess Eralie's marked avoidance of even looking in his direction._

_Somehow, I wasn't surprised that Culwich was quite as unsuccessful as his predecessor. The next morning, he was found fast asleep in the middle of the dining room table, on top of the golden platter that Cook usually reserves for special occasion roasts. With his straight brown hair, slightly protuberant lower jaw, and the apple that someone had stuck into his mouth, he looked remarkably like a giant boar. I could hardly keep from laughing. It took several minutes to wake Culwich and even longer to explain the situation to him and His Majesty. We were in no way aided by the princesses, who seemed entirely without remorse even as they tried to deny their part, particularly Princess Petra: "But Father! You know I'm allergic to apples!" King Gustave knew no such thing, and even I had to admit that her defense was weakened by the fact that she drinks apple juice every morning for breakfast._

_Following Lord Culwich was Sir Magnus, the Earl of Chetya to the south. No one, not even His Majesty, was altogether happy to hear who had presented himself as the next contestant, as Sir Magnus has quite a reputation for his overindulgence in strong drink. He lived up to the rumors, imbibing twenty-seven goblets of wine in the course of a half hour dinner, becoming louder and ever more boisterous after each one. I don't think I was the only one surprised to see him stand at the end of the meal, though he did require assistance from Gerard, one of the servers, in finding the exit. King Gustave—wisely, I thought—refrained from inviting Magnus to join him in a nightcap drink. I doubt that he gave much thought to solving the mystery during the night, and I highly suspect that he needed very little encouragement—herbal or otherwise—in sleeping the night away._

_He was still sleeping soundly the next morning, when Weston found him cradled in the ballroom chandelier. It took four servants to get him down, and I advised them to avoid waking him until his feet were on solid ground once more. Part of me felt sorry for Sir Magnus in his predicament, that is, until he became violently ill three times while returning to the princesses' room. When His Majesty confronted his daughters (with Sir Magnus standing alongside, smelling rather like moldy grapes), Petra's quick response was:_

_"Well, Father, he did mention last night that he felt as if he could fly. I was under the impression that he was speaking metaphorically."_

_I am finding it harder and harder to keep a straight face._

_The stories of the first few contestants' failures seemed to have spread, for our next contestant did not show up until two weeks after Sir Magnus left. Prince Casimir of Miroa came not from his home country, but from the monastery where he'd been a resident for three years. He'd apparently heard about our unusual opportunity from correspondence with his mother. In dining with the family, I could see little reason to either like or dislike the man. He seemed to have no obvious vices or flaws. In fact, he had no distinguishing qualities whatsoever. Remaining mostly silent during mealtime, his taciturn disposition seemed more suitable for one entering into religious orders than as the head of state. He may have been a bit boring, but I could see no real harm in him. Maybe this is why, instead of finding Casimir in the rafters of the stable, hidden in a suit of armor, or some other unusual spot, he was left in peaceful slumber in the comfort of his own cot. I suspect, however, that this mercy was not in complete accordance with Petra's wishes. She, at least, didn't seem altogether thrilled with Casimir's piety, though she was unusually quiet the next morning._

_Not only was I slightly disappointed by the lack of Petra's wit, but several of the household servants likewise expressed disappointment in missing the prince "seek-and-find" which they have come to anticipate almost as a game. Several of them have even begun to place wagers on where the next contestant will be found and who will find him._

_Crown Prince Pieter of Nilvian was the next to appear, along with a large retinue of servants that nearly equaled our own extensive palace staff. From the accounts that I'd heard of him, I expected a well-educated, intelligent man, as he'd been under the private tutelage of three of the most well-known scholars in the world. I know His Majesty had high hopes that he would be the one to solve the mystery at long last. It did not take me long to discover that, in this case, the truth fell far short of the rumor._

_Pieter did not have a single original thought in his body. Almost every word that came from his mouth was quoted from some famous piece of literature, often used incorrectly or out of context. He seemed to particularly favor Socrates. I was amused on several occasions when Princess Callia attempted to correct a misquoted phrase, but he refused to listen to her or submit to her wisdom. For instance, Pieter would have had us believe that "A child is always an honest man," and would not heed Callia's correction that, "An honest man is always a child." Their debate over this particular quote grew quite heated, and it never was officially resolved…until the next day._

_I was the one who found Prince Pieter this time around (for which Weston won three silver pieces for his wager). He was lying on one of the top shelves in the library, wedged between Socrates and Plato like a flesh-and-blood bookend. It was a miracle that the prince didn't tumble from the shelf long before anyone found him. He narrowly avoided serious injury, though I doubt any of the princesses would have regretted him._

_Petra's response when His Majesty questioned them? "Pieter clearly needed to check his sources, and where better to go?" I was reluctantly impressed with all of the sisters during this interview, as even Eurielle had perfected her innocent expression—but then, they've been given plenty of opportunities to practice._

_About a month ago, we received another visitor: Ambassador Glyndwr of Kellehen. At first, I believed that he had reported to the castle as a political ambassador, not as a contestant. Though still quite robust, he is nearing fifty years of age. His Majesty seemed a little taken aback by the ambassador's entry as well, though he received him graciously. I must admit, I was not at all pleased with his behavior at dinner. Rather than taking the customary seat to the left of the king, he insisted on sitting at the end of the table, next to Princess Eurielle. From my perspective, he paid an inordinate amount of attention to the youngest princess, and Eurielle's face—always so expressive—seemed frozen in alarm. Were he to have won the competition, I have little doubt that he would have chosen her for his child-bride, despite the fact that his age was hardly suitable even for the eldest princess (heaven forbid!)._

_His behavior at dinner left me concerned about Eurielle's safety during the night. I even suggested to Princess Eralie that the youngest princess be removed to another chamber during Glyndwr's stay. Though she thanked me heartily for my concern with sparkling eyes and a gentle smile, Eralie assured me that the princesses had the situation under control. I didn't need to worry at all about either Princess Eurielle or Glyndwr's success in solving the mystery, as the ambassador was discovered the next morning in the oddest place yet._

_About midmorning, after the servants had been searching for Glyndwr for a quarter of an hour, Geoffrey, one of the stable hands, informed me that there was a small dinghy floating in the middle of the lake. When I went out to investigate, I noticed that the boat wasn't just floating; it was traveling in circles. It was Glyndwr, and he had been set out with only one oar, making it nearly impossible for him to return to shore without assistance. And apparently, the ambassador was unable to swim. As you can imagine, it took quite some time to bring him back to dry land, so it was nearly midday when His Majesty was able to face his daughters (Alone, this time, as Glyndwr had by this time departed Kyoria almost as quickly as he could order his carriage)._

_In response to this latest, the princesses appeared to have worked out a little theatrics beforehand. Petra denied their part in Glyndwr's fate, adding: "Father, you know we're all afraid of water," followed by a shriek when Eurielle handed her a glass filled to the brim. Despite his anger, I do suspect that the king's mouth twitched a bit to hide a smile. Indeed, how could he mourn the loss of such an unworthy contender?_

_Our most recent visitor, Prince Delvin of Tabor, was perhaps the most memorable of all—not only because of the prince himself, but also because of his fate. He arrived nearly a week ago, and the only word I can think to describe him would be "dazzling." Delvin was admittedly a very handsome individual, with bright golden hair and a structured face. He dazzled the house maids, he dazzled the serving girls, he even dazzled the princesses to an extent. I suspect that Raia, in particular, would have been inclined to like him for his artistic face…if it weren't for his vanity. Because as much as he dazzled everyone else, he certainly dazzled himself the most. I don't think he was able to pass a single reflective surface without using it to check his appearance._

_At one point, when I was escorting Prince Delvin to the dining hall with Princesses Callia and Petra, the candidate paused briefly in front of a wall mirror to adjust a curl along his forehead and murmur something. At first, I thought I'd misheard, but a glance at Petra's disgusted expression confirmed my suspicions—Delvin actually referred to his reflection as "gorgeous." Never have I met a vainer or more narcissistic man, and I have to admit that I was rather looking forward to seeing what the princesses would do to bring him down a peg._

_They outdid themselves. In my wildest imagination, I could never have believed them capable of this. Unlike with Ambassador Glyndwr, Prince Delvin was found relatively easily and early in the morning, as his hiding place had been conveniently placed inside the spare dressing room on the third floor. Also unlike the Ambassador, it was much more difficult to restore Prince Delvin, as he had been intricately wedged in a triangle of three full-length mirrors, all bound together with ropes and chains from the dungeons. He was so tightly entrapped that only his head retained any range of movement—and even then, he could see nothing besides his own "gorgeous" reflection._

_The servants spent an hour trying to free him without breaking the mirrors, for fear of harming Prince Delvin. Try as they might, they were unable to loosen the tangle of ropes and chains around the mirrors. His Majesty finally ordered Prince Delvin to be brought to the princesses' chamber in his current state. It was midmorning by this time, so I was somewhat surprised to find all of the princesses still in their room. Several were still asleep, but Princess Eralie, Princess Raia, and even Princess Petra were awake and seemed to be waiting for their father's appearance. In fact, they didn't even bother to feign innocence or ignorance this time, not even when the mirror trap was brought in. Before His Majesty even had time to say a word, Petra walked to Prince Devlin, circled the triangular trap, and turned to address her father saucily:_

_"He was already married to his reflection, Father. We merely felt they could be better acquainted."_

_I am still somewhat amazed at her audacity. Petra agreed to restore Prince Delvin, but only if she could be permitted to do so in complete privacy. We all retreated from the room, and Prince Delvin emerged ten minutes later, fully restored except for his peace of mind. Not surprisingly, he took little time in taking leave from the castle, though I did notice that he left a large collection of his own personal mirrors in his wake. I don't think he will ever view his own reflection with quite the same feelings as before._

_Thus far, I have mostly described events in the past half-year that, though interesting, have been more entertaining than concerning. While I admit to being curious about where the princesses go and what they do at night, I have faith in their judgment and sincerely doubt that they are doing anything untoward or dangerous. That being said, there have been some other incidents—particularly lately—that have been somewhat disturbing that have resulted from their secrecy._

_Most disturbingly, there has been the matter of Sir Luka. He has always insinuated himself into the workings of the palace as a "financial advisor," and for quite some time I have suspected that he was taking more advantage than was his due. Of course, I have little evidence besides my own suspicions, which have been increasing with recent events. Lately, Luka has been spending more and more time on the palace grounds, even when His Majesty has no need of his counsel. He has intruded upon the royal family's nighttime meal, even seeming to take it for granted that he is a welcome guest. Also, I have seen him talking secretly with individuals around the castle, including Horace (one of the guards) and Eileen, Judith's bunkmate in her servant's quarters. I suspect that he is bribing Horace for information on the princesses, and I don't even like to consider how he is paying Eileen for the same. Often I have wondered just how far he's willing to go to gain even a little bit of power._

_His Majesty has tolerated Luka for his service to the crown, and it's no wonder, considering how he has hidden his true nature from his sovereign. However, I have always said that you take the measure of a man not by how he treats his equals or superiors, but by how he treats his inferiors—and Luka is one of the cruelest men I have ever come across. I'll never forget the bruises that covered Chip's back when Luka punished the stable hand for neglecting to properly oil and adjust his stirrups. And Gwen's eye was black for a month after she spilled wine on his trousers. Thus far, he's succeeded in keeping these activities from the ears of the king, but he hasn't been so successful in hiding them from the princesses. He's tried in the past to ingratiate himself to them, particularly to Callia, but now I fear that his failure in this respect and his desire to elevate himself at all costs may lead him to drastic measures. On the one hand, I certainly don't want him getting that close to the princesses…or the crown. On the other hand, I would give much to be able to see the princesses get the better of him as they have every other candidate. Not to mention, this would present an expedient way to rid him from the land for good._

Ty paused in his writing, considering anything else that he might need to write. Putting his pen down, he rubbed his eyes tiredly, feeling the strain of the early morning and the task of writing. Having determined to just end his entry there, he picked up his pen again, reached to dip it in the inkwell…and jumped from shock, upsetting his ink and sending a stream of black liquid across the smooth desk.

A rather odd individual stood before his desk, staring at him with a penetrating gaze. Her hunched stature and wrinkled face was familiar, and it only took Ty a few moments to remember her name: Rosetta. If memory served him correctly, she was the castle's newest employee, having only been hired as a washerwoman a few months prior to the start of the princesses' mystery. She had been largely unnoticed by many in the castle due to the fact that she couldn't speak English, though she understood it well enough and could make herself understood through hand signals. In fact, Ty was the only one who was actually able to speak to her in her native language, Uvegian.

Rosetta also possessed the uncanny ability to appear out of nowhere and disappear just as silently and quickly; she rivaled even Petra in stealth. In fact, Ty was still recovering from her latest exhibition of this talent. As he worked to slow his heartbeat back to a normal pace, he righted his inkwell, accepted a rag from the washerwoman, and began the process of mopping up the mess.

"Good morning, Rosetta. Can I help you with something?" he greeted her in Uvegian.

Rosetta was a woman of few words. Silently, she placed a bundle wrapped in plain brown paper on the edge of Ty's desk, far enough away from the spilled ink. Then she stared at him with a piercing gaze full of such meaning that he was sure he had missed something.

"They need you. Remember. Things are not as they appear." And with those short, cryptic phrases, she patted his cheek, giggled and glided out of the room. Completely nonplussed, Ty stared after her, his mouth hanging open slightly. What in the world…?

Dragging himself from his reverie, he glanced down to the ink-soaked rag under his palm. He painstakingly wiped the last vestiges of black streaks off his desk before turning his attention to the brown package left by Rosetta. It was a decent-sized bundle, not very sturdy or heavy; it was even a bit flexible, as if the thing contained inside had no definite shape. When he opened it, all he found was a rather threadbare cloak made of green velvet. Despite its ratty appearance, the strands were woven so tightly together that the light of his candle could not penetrate it. Ty didn't recognize it, so it couldn't be a cloak that he had mislaid in the wash—yet it seemed an odd gift. What did it have to do with Rosetta's cryptic advice?

_Things are not as they appear, _he thought. _What in the world could that possibly mean?_

Ty picked up his pen once more, dipped it in the thin layer of ink still in the jar, and settled in to write about this new mysterious occurrence.


	14. Secrets Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

This was getting to be a pattern. Gone were the old days of dining room pandemonium, of flying food and broken dishes. Gone, even, were the days of secretive silences and hushed whispers between the princesses. Now, the royal family spent every meal in tense silence, the air heavy with Gustave's enraged disapproval and the princesses' feigned guilt. It had become so uncomfortable, in fact, that Callia had even come to wish for the temporary reprieve offered when a new prince or contestant joined them for a nightly attempt at solving the mystery.

On days when the castle didn't play host to an outside guest, other inhabitants of the castle had been joining them more frequently at the dinner table in a controversial break from the family dinner tradition. Callia suspected that Gustave was attempting to avoid talking to his daughters by any means necessary, and she even wondered whether he was pettily invoking a silent treatment to punish his daughters in any way he could.

The king had invited Sir Bionne a few times to discuss matters of state, but the steward usually tried to avoid invading on their personal time. It was a pity; he would have been a welcome addition in Callia's opinion, and she knew that Eralie would have jumped at the chance to spend more time with him. The princesses had been much less pleased, however, when Sir Luka began to make a regular appearance.

As far as Callia was concerned, another prince would be a welcome alternative to dinner with Sir Luka. Mealtimes still remained just as tense as ever, only in a different way.

Tonight, for instance, their entrance into the dining room resembled nothing so much as a game of musical chairs: Callia took her customary seat on the left side of the table, only to jump up an instant later, panicked, when Luka attempted to sit beside her. Heedless of the rudeness of her actions, Callia dashed to the other side of the table to settle in Petra's usual seat. She had no sooner sat down, however, when Luka's presence alerted her to the need to move _yet again_. She darted around, groping for a seat far from him. Eralie, Raia, and Thaleia hung around uncertainly, unwilling to take a seat until the arrangement had been determined. Eurielle, who had already been forced to give up her seat to Callia once, had now reclaimed it, holding onto the wood beneath her so tightly that not even an earthquake could dislodge her.

The cat-and-mouse game went on for several minutes until Callia finally settled into the seat to the right of Eurielle, forcing Petra into the seat on her other side. Luka, defeated, had to be content with sitting across from his prize and attempting to woo her with his gaze. The remaining princesses adjusted their seating arrangements accordingly and the entire party settled into the now-typical tension, punctuated only by the sounds of silverware and chewing.

Sir Luka had by this time experienced enough family dinners to realize that his conversation was neither required nor appreciated by most of the diners. Callia studiously avoided looking across the table at him, instead focusing intently on mixing the butter into her mashed potatoes as if her life depended on it. It was for this reason, therefore, that she startled when he suddenly broke the silence; she had been so focused on pretending that he wasn't there, that she'd nearly convinced herself of the fact.

"Your Highness, if I may be so bold as to speak?" Luka requested, placing his fork and knife alongside his plate and turning to face the sovereign. King Gustave motioned for him to continue, still toying with his own dinner.

"Sir, I would like to formally declare my intention to enter the prince competition."

He had now successfully garnered the king's attention, as well as that of the ladies themselves. Gustave's fork stopped halfway to his mouth, the bite of food forgotten in the wake of Luka's shocking announcement. Cliodne dropped her spoon with a loud _thunk_, Raia gasped, and Thaleia choked slightly. Eurielle clapped her hand over her mouth to keep from spraying juice across the table—on second thought, Callia wished that she'd let it happen, as Luka was directly in the line of fire. Petra, as always, showed little emotion other than a slight quirk of her eyebrows, but Callia suspected that Eralie was so deep in her own thoughts that she hadn't heard a word that Sir Luka said. As for Callia herself, she felt herself gaping, open-mouthed, at Luka. He turned toward her, smirking suggestively, and she quickly averted her eyes to a point just over his left shoulder, rearranging her face into a deadpan expression.

Without taking his eyes from Callia, Luka continued: "Your Majesty, with all due respect, I believe that your daughters have rebelled against His Highness for long enough. I have no doubt that I will be able to succeed in solving the mystery."

Callia felt a white-hot flash of anger at his confident tone, and could only imagine the looks on her sisters' faces.

Finally, Gustave answered, glancing uneasily at his daughters' mutinous expressions.

"I accept your candidacy, Sir Luka." He straightened in his chair, then cast a piercing glance toward his daughters. "And I perfectly agree with you. But I must adhere to _all_ of the rules of the competition, and so do you. If by some chance you fail—"

"I understand, sir, and I will not fail. And _when_ I succeed, I shall be more than happy to claim my prize." Against her will, Callia glanced again toward Luka, and felt the bile rise in her throat when he winked at her. This time, she refused to look away, instead staring him down with a defiance that she did not feel. She clenched her hands beneath the table to keep them from shaking as she considered how to deal with this latest dilemma. She didn't need to look to either side of her to know that there would be an emergency sister conference immediately after they had all escaped dinner.

For the fact of the matter was that the princesses were completely unprepared for Luka's announcement. Consequently, they'd had no notice to prepare a sleeping draught for the man, and now they'd certainly lost their chance to perform their usual dinner drugging. Callia was itching to discuss with her sisters how best to deal with the situation,

The remainder of the meal dragged even more slowly than usual. Callia had pushed her plate away long ago, her appetite long lost, but Gustave seemed to have regained his. He and Luka each ate voraciously, neither of them seeming to notice or care that their tablemates barely touched their own meals. At long last, dessert was cleared away and they were permitted to take their leave.

Callia took no time in following her sisters from the room. They were a silent group as they made their way to their bedchamber, none of them feeling secure enough in the privacy of the hallways to make a sound. What a change a couple months could make! Callia could remember a time when they freely traipsed through the entire castle, and now even the most basic of freedoms had been stripped from them due to their father's fear.

Noise burst from the group as soon as their door closed behind them.

"I can't believe—!"

"But can we—?"

"The nerve of him!"

"I just wanted to—"

"Do we have any ready?"

"—smack that smirk off his face!"

"Okay, okay!" Eralie's raised voice cut through the frenzy. Callia turned her attention to the firstborn princess, her eyebrows raised in surprise at the firmness and calm control in her voice. But then, Eralie had been surprising her a lot lately.

"I know this is a hitch, but let's talk about what we can do," Eralie said, sitting on the end of her bed. Cliodne and Eurielle sat on either side of her, Callia and Raia settled on Callia's bed, Thaleia on the floor, and Petra took a seat on her trunk. An expectant look on her face, Eralie glanced around at her sisters.

"Isn't anyone else going to speak? Because that's about as forceful as I can be."

Callia cracked a smile at Eralie's wry tone. Her humor broke the princesses' panic, and she was relieved to hear them speak rationally once more.

"So, we obviously weren't able to get Luka to take the valerian root," Cliodne said. "Does anyone have any other ideas to keep him from being a problem tonight?"

"He's not like the others. As much as I hate to admit it, he's actually smart, and he'll be more on his guard since he's not a stranger to the situation," Thaleia claimed. "He won't be the easiest to get the better of, even if we did manage to drug him like planned."

"But he's also the last person in the world that we want to find out about the sanctum!" Eurielle protested.

Petra rolled her eyes. "We already know that, you ninny! Don't you have anything to add that will actually be helpful?"

Eurielle was about to retort, but Raia interrupted.

"I don't have an answer for that, but I know where he's going to end up if we get the chance." She exchanged a meaningful, communicative look with Petra. Callia suspected that Raia's hatred for Luka rivaled her own, ever since he had mercilessly beaten Gwen, one of the serving maids who had helped Raia in acquiring uniquely colored paints from her hometown.

Catching Raia's train of thought, Callia found that she couldn't agree more: "There's only one place he deserves to be."

"Well, let's make sure he gets there," said Petra. Her eyes twinkled, belying her sudden train of thought. Her sisters regarded her curiously, but she took her time in answering. Callia hated when she chose to build up the suspense in this way.

"Think about it: we weren't able to drug him at dinner, so we need to figure out another way to give him the valerian root, right? And for that, we need to find _someone_ to conveniently offer him wine or something without making him suspicious, right? And _who _is the one person that Sir Luka would be eager to accept _anything_ from?"

Callia felt her stomach sink when six pairs of eyes turned in her direction. She was _not_ going to enjoy this.

A/N: Sorry that this chapter's a little shorter than the others, but we'll make up for it, we promise!


	15. Secrets Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

Eurielle couldn't help but giggle as she watched Petra and Thaleia in action, their eyes lit with devilish glee as they coached poor Callia in the art of deception. Their voices were hurried, trying to fit in as many tips and pointers as they could in the limited time they had; their window of opportunity was diminishing with every passing moment. The danger was heightened because Callia would not only have to face and sedate Luka, but that she would have to do so in the presence of her father without any of the usual distractions of mealtime.

"Don't be waiting for _them_," said Petra, nodding with all the wisdom of a sage. "_You _should be the one to enter, so that they don't suspect you of having done something in their absence. If it comes down to it, and you don't have time to do it, make a small distraction—"

"Pretend you've seen a mouse!" Eurielle cut in helpfully.

"Or maybe something more subtle," Thaleia amended. "Then slip it in and leave quietly without drawing any further attention to yourself."

"Whatever you do, make and maintain eye contact at all times," Petra said. "It makes you look honest."

"And don't change how you treat him," added Thaleia.

"But, shouldn't she try to flatter him or something? Wouldn't he be more likely to take it then?" Raia asked interestedly.

"NO!" Petra and Thaleia each said forcefully. They looked at one another, each encouraging the other to explain. Finally, Petra spoke up.

"That would be the most suspicious thing of all. People don't change their opinions in twenty minutes. If she hated him at dinner, she'd hate him now."

"Just play it up," Thaleia addressed Callia once more. "Be the challenge we know you are."

"I think that's why he likes you," Eurielle said saucily. "He's not sure whether or not you're smarter than him."

Callia—who had remained silent during the onslaught of advice—finally spoke up, holding up her hand to stop Petra from adding another point.

"Okay, okay, that's enough. I've already got enough to worry about, I don't need any more. I'll figure it out from here." She took a deep breath, like a martyr going to meet her maker, and slipped from the room without a backward glance.

"They grow up so fast, don't they?" Thaleia quipped half-heartedly, trying to diffuse the anxiety in the room. Eurielle's answering chuckle was just as nervous, and she quickly fell silent.

In going through the motions of preparing for bed, the princesses moved much more slowly than usual, their ears tuned for the sound of Callia's return. All their hope rested on her shoulders and the success of her mission.

_Well, not _all_ their hope_, Eurielle had to admit.

They did have a plan B—that is, not going to the sanctum—but the very possibility cut them to the core. To be deprived of this sense of joy, which she looked forward to every night, would be insupportable.

Fifteen minutes passed in such tense silence. Eurielle fiddled with her pink bedspread, unwilling to slip under her covers until she had received word of Callia's success. She bounced upon her mattress, feeling an anxious urge to keep moving in an attempt to release some of her nervous energy.

At long last, a step was heard approaching their door. From the sound, it couldn't be their father leading Sir Luka, as there was only one set of footsteps, muffled as if by a woman's slipper instead of a man's boot. Eurielle held her breath in anticipation, half expecting to be disappointed by the sight of Judith instead of Callia.

But Fate was smiling down on her that day.

Callia's familiar face, blanched white as if in shock, appeared around the door's edge. Before anyone could so much as ask about the success of her mission, she darted to the washing basin with a strangled shriek. Eurielle watched in alarm as she scrubbed at her left hand vigorously, as if to rid it of some kind of disease.

"He _touched_ me!" she wailed. "He _kissed_ my hand!"

Eurielle couldn't decide between disgust and amusement, but she arranged her face into the expression least likely to give offense.

It took nearly two minutes for Callia to calm down enough to speak, and her sisters lost little time in questioning her.

"He drank it, it's done." Eurielle felt a wave of relief upon hearing those words.

Callia continued: "But it's a good thing I took a double dose. I put it in the wrong cup at first." She unsuccessfully tried to hide a guilty smile. "Father will be sleeping rather deeply tonight, too."

"You _didn't!_" Eurielle squealed, covering up a giggle. Callia's answer was cut short by the opening of the door. Judith bustled in with an armful of laundry, apologizing profusely for her delay.

"I'm sorry, m'ladies, but I had to claim extra sheets for Sir Luka's cot. His abrupt announcement has us all in a tizzy. Such late notice!"

As the maid began making up the cot behind the partition, Raia and Thaleia set to work preparing their own valerian-infused nightcap for her consumption. Justine had no sooner reappeared into the main part of the room, when her goblet was thrust into her hands with undue haste.

"You'll have to forgive our hurry tonight, Judith," Cliodne explained diplomatically. "We're expecting our guest at any moment, but we by no means wanted to deprive ourselves or you of this treat." Judith accepted the drink, clinked glasses with Eralie, and drained it to the last drop—always eager to participate in a custom that involved red wine.

Eurielle hid her smile by pretending to take a sip of her own wine. A few drops slipped past her closed lips, and she repressed a shudder at the vile taste. She slipped the still-full glass onto the bottom shelf of her bedside table, intending to empty it, as always, into the flower pot at the earliest convenience. Bereft of her goblet, she watched as her sisters drained their own glasses, then disposed of the evidence. The last goblet disappeared into Petra's trunk just as the sound of approaching footsteps—heavy, _booted_ footsteps—warned of Gustave and Luka's arrival.

For once, there was little flurry and hurry inside the room, as the majority of the occupants were already settled into bed. Eurielle rolled onto her side away from the door, closed her eyes and tried to keep her breathing deep and even. Under the circumstances, she felt safer in feigning sleep than in attempting to face Luka or her father without giving anything away. She suspected that she wasn't the only one, either—if she knew her sisters, she would bet almost anything that Callia and Raia were also pretending to be asleep rather than face the man.

Keeping her eyes tightly shut, Eurielle listened as Gustave escorted Luka to his corner cot, their voices hushed in response to the darkness of the room. She heard the squeak of the cot springs and the rustle of sheets, then followed the sound of her father's boots back to the door. His loud whisper cut through the silence.

"Remember what I told you," he said, but Eurielle wasn't sure if he was addressing the princesses who were still "awake" or Sir Luka himself. "I will be waiting for…" His voice faded into fuzziness in the back of her tired mind.

Eurielle startled awake, feeling slightly disoriented in the continued darkness of her bedchamber. How much time had passed? How long had she slept? Gustave had clearly left, but how long ago? She sat up in bed, seeing the shapes of her sisters moving in their beds, as well. The chimes of the clock tower rang through the room, alleviating her confusion as it confirmed that she'd only dozed off for a couple minutes—long enough to have slept through the aftermath of Gustave's visit, but not so long to have missed anything important. And, with any hope, the valerian root should have taken effect for both Judith and Luka.

Hearing slight scuffling from behind the partitioned cot, Eurielle felt a flash of panic that their foolproof sedative had finally failed at perhaps the most crucial moment yet. As her eyes adjusted to the low light, however, she realized that the sounds were coming from Thaleia, Cliodne, and Eralie, all of whom were struggling to support Luka's weight as they worked together to drag him from his cot.

"We know where he's _going_," grunted Cliodne. "But do we have a way to unlock it?"

"Yeah, it's one thing to pick our bedroom lock, but the dungeon's another thing altogether," Eurielle spoke up around a yawn. She smirked when Eralie jumped slightly, dropping Luka's left leg—they hadn't realized that she was awake.

"I've got it here somewhere," said Petra from the foot of her bed, where she was rummaging through her trunk. An instant later, she held up her prize: an entire ring of clanging, jangling keys.

"They're Sir Bionne's extra set," she explained. "The ones for the library, the kitchens, the dungeon, and Father's rooms." She handed the ring to Cliodne, pointing out the keys that they would need to complete their mission.

Eurielle snuggled back under her covers as Thaleia, Cliodne, Eralie, and the unconscious Sir Luka disappeared from sight. She estimated that they would return in no less than half an hour, and fully intended to take advantage of the "punishment break"—as she had come to call it. She comfortably settled into the place between waking and sleeping, half-aware of the limited activity in the room. She felt warm and cozy, cocooned as she was in her bedspread, but she tried valiantly to remain conscious of when the dungeon group returned. She already received enough teasing from her sisters about falling asleep so easily—she definitely didn't want to prove them right…

"That's that!"

Eurielle started awake for the second time in less than an hour upon hearing Thaleia's triumphant crow. She opened her bleary eyes to see the three adventuresome sisters enter the room, distinctly Luka-free and looking thoroughly pleased about it. The door hung open for a few seconds, then slowly swung back to close tightly behind them.

A candle flickered to life across the room, bizarrely illuminating Raia's face. "He's in place?" she affirmed.

Cliodne rolled her eyes as she struck a match to light her own candle. "Of course he is! He's locked up in the dungeon—safe, sound, and, with any hope, cold."

"Clio even locked him in the manacles," said Eralie. "So we're safe to go as soon as we get ready." She held out the key ring to Petra, who returned it to the confines of her mysterious trunk.

The remaining princesses scrambled from their beds (except for Petra, who had been sitting in a tired daze on her trunk) and assembled their lanterns and candles in preparation for their descent to the sanctum. Within a matter of moments, they had gathered around the rug in their usual formation. Thaleia kicked the fabric from beneath their feet, and Callia grabbed the materializing ring to pull open the trapdoor.

Eurielle stood back, shivering slightly from the magic breeze and allowing her sisters to precede her down the staircase and into the tunnel. She followed on Petra's heels, careful to keep her candle from dripping on top of the brunette's head (and fighting a slight temptation to let it happen). _Boy, would she be mad!_

A sudden scuffling noise in the tunnel behind her drew Eurielle's attention from the dirt floor. She whipped around, her eyes searching for the source of the sound.

Petra, distracted from the misdirection of Eurielle's candle flare, impatiently turned around to face the youngest princess.

"What in the world are you doing?"

"Did you hear that?" Eurielle asked, not bothering to answer Petra's query.

"I haven't heard anything besides you freaking out," her sister answered edgily. "Are you coming or not?"

Eurielle nodded, still scanning the passageway uneasily. She still didn't see anything out of the ordinary. She backed up, then turned back to follow the diminishing lantern-light. Her brow was furrowed as she considered the noise that she thought she'd heard. It wasn't an entirely unfamiliar sound; in fact, she'd heard it often enough before, even earlier that night.

If she could had to guess, she'd say that it had sounded like the heavy, booted footsteps of a man.

But that was impossible—well, maybe not _impossible_, but it was definitely _improbable_, that a man would be able to follow them down the passageway without being seen. It was ridiculous even to consider.

A/N Do we have you wondering yet? Mwahahaha! Don't forget to leave a lovely review, we so appreciate any type of feedback you can give! Make sure to tell us which princess is your favorite or which one you'd like to see more of in a possible sequel, which we are in the process of planning right now. So stay tuned!


	16. Suspense Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

Ty held his breath as the youngest princess scanned the passageway behind her, her blue eyes skimming over the place where he stood without registering his presence, without indicating that she could see him at all…as if he was invisible.

Which, of course, he was, thanks to Rosetta.

He lightly twitched the threadbare cloak that he held around his tall frame, ensuring that its surprisingly voluminous folds concealed his booted feet. He little imagined that the washing woman's ragged gift (which he had taken to be an article of clothing someone had lost in the laundry) would turn out to be such a diamond in the rough. Ty had heard of magical objects such as this invisibility clock, but he never expected to even see one, much less use it. He didn't know how Rosetta had acquired it, but he had little doubt that she'd given it to him for this very purpose—to follow the princesses and to make sure that their nighttime secret wasn't endangering them.

Eurielle, seemingly satisfied that the passageway was empty as usual, continued tagging after her sisters. Ty took care to muffle his footsteps this time as he trailed at a distance behind her. The invisibility cloak may have hidden him completely from view, but the princesses would still be able to hear him if he made even the slightest sound or feel him if he accidentally bumped into one.

Ty had to repress feelings of guilt as he followed the princesses toward their secret. He couldn't help but feel as though he were betraying them by going to such means to discover their secret, especially when their desperate bids for secrecy communicated just how important it was to them.

Yet here he was, doing the very thing he'd determined not to. His only consolation was that his motives—unlike the other princes and dukes and lords who'd entered the competition—were purely disinterested and fueled by concern for the princesses themselves.

For several days, Ty had pondered the possible meanings behind Rosetta's visit, her gift, and her mysterious message. It wasn't difficult to discover who she meant by "they," but he was unsure how to regard her warning as a whole, and wondered how she could possibly know that the princesses were in need of help. The rest of her message was less confusing to interpret: "you can't always see everything that is there" obviously referred to her invisibility cloak—which he'd discovered quite painfully after tripping over an unknown object. Once he'd discovered the secret of the cloak (after half a day of looking for his missing footstool), it took little guesswork to figure out that she'd intended for him to use it to discover the secret of the princesses. Even considering her warning, however, he hadn't felt any urgency on the princesses' behalf. He held too much faith in their judgment and sensibility, particularly the eldest daughters'.

He'd been spurred to action by Luka's abrupt announcement. Though Rosetta's warning hadn't seemed immediate, the threat of that rascal's claim on the prince competition took precedent even over Ty's unwillingness to intrude upon the princesses' privacy. Deciding to personally uncover their secret was easy enough, but how to do it while also avoiding discovery was less so. For if there was anything he was sure of, he did _not_ want to enter the contest himself. He didn't agree with the stipulations of the contest, particularly the one that objectified the princesses, making them into trophies for the winner. In the years he'd been working at the castle, he'd come to know them well enough to realize that none of them would appreciate being "sold" in such a way. That being said, not entering the prince competition meant that he would need to find another opportunity to solve the mystery.

He had long ago reasoned that the princesses' escape must take place inside their room itself. How else could they have gotten past the guards so many months ago? But with this realization arose another dilemma: how to get inside the room without being detected?

The answer was surprisingly easy. Ty, concealed under the convenient cloak, nearly stumbled upon Callia when she was returning to the bedchamber from her own mission. It was the work of a moment to fall in behind her and follow her into the room. If the door hung open a moment longer than usual as he slipped past, no one seemed to notice. Once inside, he retreated behind the corner partition in an attempt to give the occupants as much privacy as possible. Thus sequestered, he paid close attention to the sounds and bustles in the room, listening to Callia's panicked account of Luka, hearing the entrance of Judith and (he assumed) her consumption of the sedative, followed by the arrival of King Gustave and Sir Luka, and the departure of the former. He stiffened when Luka joined him behind the partition, all but holding his breath as the darker, shorter man passed within an inch of where he stood. Fortunately, the allotted space, though small, was just large enough that Ty was able to avoid detection with little difficulty. Still, he was relieved when Sir Luka finally stopped moving around the space and lay down on the bed.

After a few moments of one-sided conversation, Luka seemed to get the hint that the princesses were not in the mood for chitchat, falling silent himself. The air was tense as all of the room's inhabitants waited with bated breaths. At long last, the sound of Luka's snores filled the room. Ty found himself once again having to avoid being inadvertently discovered, this time by Eralie, Cliodne and Thaleia when they stole behind the separating partition to retrieve their unwanted guest. As they lifted Sir Luka's sleeping form between the three of them, Ty slipped out into the main chamber once again and stood with his back to the adjoining wall. The princesses' whispered conversation sounded like buzzing bees in the silence, accompanied only by the occasional grunts from the three princesses bearing Luka's deadweight.

"—I've got it here somewhere." Petra produced a ring of keys from the trunk at the end of her bed, and Ty felt a momentary shock and anger as he recognized his spare key ring, the set that he had misplaced nearly three weeks ago. It had been a great inconvenience to arrange to have his keys copied again, not to mention the hours that he spent looking for the lost set, combing over the grounds and every inch of the castle. He should have realized before that their disappearance most likely had something to do with Petra; lost items usually did.

Perhaps the tensest moments occurred while he—and the rest of the princesses—waited for the return of Eralie, Cliodne, and Thaleia. There was definitely a sense of expectancy from those still in the bedchamber (those who were still awake, at least). Despite the lateness of the hour—not to mention the earliness of his morning—Ty felt adrenaline running through his veins, and had no scruples in sinking into the corner armchair to save his legs for who-knew-what awaited him. He knew that he would have no problem in staying awake.

At long last, the prodigal princesses returned empty-handed. Upon hearing of Sir Luka's fate, Ty tried to muster up some sympathy for the unfortunate prisoner, but found that he was incapable of it. In all honesty, he couldn't think of a fitter place for the rogue to spend the night than in a dungeon cell.

Without further ado, all seven of the princesses produced lanterns or candles and stood gathered around the rug in the center of the room. Ty watched avidly as Thaleia kicked back the rug, revealing the floorboards underneath. Even though he had halfway expected such an occurrence, the materializing trapdoor still took him by surprise. As the princesses descended one-by-one down the staircase, Ty feverishly considered how to join them without arousing their suspicions. Fortunately, he was given a slight window of opportunity to slip down before Petra and Eurielle. He caught a glimpse of gold near the top of the stairs, but the princesses on his heels prevented him from examining the bright plaque more closely.

He invisibly joined the group of princesses at the foot of the stairs. The tunnel darkened further, indicating that Eurielle had closed the trapdoor. Within a few moments, the remaining princesses materialized, and they collectively continued down the passageway.

Ty had hung back, allowing all of the princesses to move in front before following them once more. Aside from the time when Eurielle seemed to suspect his presence, he managed to travel undetected to the end of the passage, when the pathway led to an ornate door unlike anything he'd ever seen before. He wasn't given much time to admire the carvings on the exterior before he was forced to sneak into the room itself—a feat much easier than slipping down the trapdoor, as the heaviness of the mahogany door slowed its closure.

He stopped short upon entering the room itself, and didn't even bother to stop his jaw from dropping at its magnificence. If he had felt alert before, the magic of the room heightened his energy almost to the point of euphoria. Even in the midst of his awe, however, he remained aware of the action taking place in all the other corners as the princesses appeared to be preparing for…something, he wasn't sure what.

A sudden spotlight distracted Ty from his exploration of the chamber's splendor, turning his attention to the back of the room. Callia and Raia had apparently rigged a shadow ring around one of the wall sconces, focusing the light's beam along the length of the chamber to highlight the mosaic scene and platform at the other end.

From the left of the makeshift stage, Eralie stepped into the spotlight. Her simple blue gown swished around her ankles, and her black hair gleamed in the candlelight. Intrigued by the unfolding drama and her captivating charisma, Ty was compelled to move closer to the stage and sit in one of the armchairs situated around the stage. It wasn't until she opened her mouth, however, that he understood what it was that she—and they—were supposed to be doing. And suddenly, he viewed the spotlight, the stage, the chairs, and even the mosaic in an entirely new light: as pieces that contributed to an artistically original, _impressively_ crafted theatrical production.

It wasn't difficult to follow the plotline of their drama; it was deceptively simple, though the story was complex enough to attest to the hours of forethought and planning that had led to its form this night. Eralie's character, the lady Miriam, was the heart and courage of the story, and Liam, Thaleia's character, was its strength. Together, the two braved the threats of pirates (with Petra as the terrifying Blackguard and Eurielle as his bumbling sidekick Spronk), mistaken identities, and deceptions as they sought to return safely to their hometown, from which they had both been kidnapped and held for ransom. It was a tale of adventure, comedy, danger, and chivalry, and Ty couldn't help but feel a shiver run through him as he watched the brilliance unfold.

After the first full run-through of the play, the princesses collected together to discuss what little issues still needed to be resolved. Taking advantage from the break, Ty wandered around the room's perimeter. He was intrigued not only by this magical chamber itself, but also the rooms that branched out from the main hall. He couldn't very well open a door and arouse anyone's suspicions, so he was limited to entering those that were already ajar. All of the doors were labeled with the name of a princess, indicating possession of each "dressing room." Eralie's was neat as a pin, whereas Thaleia's looked as though a tornado had torn it apart. One door stood apart from the others, however, unlabeled and unclaimed.

Fortunately, this misfit door hung open halfway. Ty glanced back toward the cluster of sisters, then slipped soundlessly into the room. Unlike the others, it was thin and tall, whereas the rooms he'd seen previously were wide and square. In fact, the shape of the room made him suspect it to be another hallway or pathway like the one that had led them here—or at least, it _could_ have been a walkway, if the remainder of the room hadn't been blocked by a wall of rubble from a cave-in. Ty rested a hand on a boulder at shoulder-level, placing slight pressure on it to see if it would shift. It didn't budge, and he didn't want to risk another cave-in by pushing harder. A gleam at the base of the rubble caught his attention. He stooped to pick up the object, digging it out carefully with his fingernail to reveal a long, ornate locket. It was caked with earth, making it hard to distinguish, but there seemed to be etchings in the base of the locket, perhaps an engraving of some kind. He slipped the piece into his pocket to clean at a later time, then turned from the cave-in to return to the main chamber.

The princesses had resumed their theatrics on the stage. Petra and Thaleia were engaged in rehearsing the kidnapping scene near the beginning—_that was one of the best parts_, Ty thought. He was tempted to observe for just a while longer, but then realized that the princesses would likely be leaving soon, as it was nearly sunrise. His best bet of sneaking back into the princesses' chamber without being discovered would be to return now through the trapdoor of his own accord. As engrossed as the princesses were with what was taking place on stage, he doubted that they would notice if he opened the main door wide enough to slip through, particularly since most of the lights were focused on the back of the room.

Safely outside the chamber, he took a moment to appreciate the fantastical carvings on the outside of the door, then grabbed a torch from a wall sconce (from the look of it, he suspected it to have originally come from the hallway leading to the castle dungeon—Petra's work, no doubt). Ty set off down the passageway at a quick pace, with his source of illumination lighting his way. He was relieved for the opportunity to remove the cloak for a period of time, though he continually kept an ear on the passage behind him to hear if the princesses had followed him yet.

Having little else to do besides walk the lengthy passageway, Ty reflected on the events of the night, and how they had illuminated characteristics of the princesses that he'd never known existed—and he greatly doubted if His Majesty was aware of them, either. Not only was he impressed by Cliodne's leadership abilities and Callia's story development, but he newly recognized Eurielle's gifts with music and flexibility with her abilities, Thaleia's struggle between her tomboyish tendencies and her princess status, and Petra's desire for acceptance within her own interests. He mourned the circumstances that led them to believe that they had to hide this secret—and, by extension, themselves—from their father. However, Ty understood the motivations behind their secrecy, and seeing the play for himself had helped him to better comprehend their desperate measures for concealment.

In everything that he'd seen and realized tonight, however, Ty had yet to witness anything that gave him any alarm for the princesses' safety. Certainly, it wasn't always safe to deal with magic in such a concentrated form as was found in the chamber, but they seemed largely unaffected by its effects. In regards to their activities in the room, he saw no reason to put an end to their independence and freedom, as they were clearly not doing anything nefarious. Perhaps the only cause for concern was the caved-in hallway, but it had seemed stable enough; it was unlikely that another such incident would happen any time soon.

After several minutes' trek, the light of Ty's torch finally fell on the base of the passage staircase, and he ascended steadily. The cloak remained tucked in the crook of his arm, as he still didn't hear any indication of the princesses' return. Despite the lateness of the hour—or, more correctly, the earliness of the morning—he still felt alert and energized. He suspected this to be an aftereffect of the adrenaline of solving the princesses' mystery and satiating his curiosity regarding their activities.

Ty was reminded of an unanswered facet of the mystery when the trapdoor came into view, a rectangular golden plaque featured on the wall underneath. He moved the light closer to the plaque, squinting to read past the reflection on the polished metal. He felt a flash of recognition as he recognized the foreign words. Well, not _all_ of them. Uvegian wasn't his native language, but he was fluent enough to converse and read a fair amount of it.

_It looks like a riddle of some sort_, he thought. While he didn't understand some of it, he could read enough to interpret the basic meaning…and to be alarmed by a measure of malice underscored in its language. Under other circumstances, he might have consulted Rosetta, the castle's resident Uvegian speaker, but he couldn't suppress a feeling of suspicion at the coincidence between her warning and this one. But in order to truly understand what it said, he would need to write it down and translate it on paper.

Moving as quickly and silently as possible, Ty stole into the bedchamber. He left the trapdoor open behind him, resting on the floorboards to keep it from disappearing on him. Sneaking a glance at Judith's prone, snoring form, he went straight to Callia's bedside table to locate a shuffle of parchment and an ink quill, then returned through the floor opening. Ever conscious of the time, he seated himself on the top step and painstakingly copied out the Uvegian words exactly as they appeared before him.

Ty had just dipped his quill into the ink well for the last line when he heard it: the very faint echoes of ladies' footsteps coming toward him the passageway. He estimated that he had ten minutes at the very most to finish his task and retreat through the door. He jotted down the remaining line then rolled up the parchment, heedless of the wet ink still shining. He just hoped it didn't smudge so much as to be illegible.

Escaping through the trapdoor once more was the work of a moment, though he felt a little uncomfortable closing it after him; clearly, the princesses would be able to open it, but it didn't halt his apprehension that they'd somehow be trapped inside the passage. Safely in the moonlit room, he extinguished his torch, slipped on the cloak, and checked the door to the chamber. It was still unlocked from when the princesses had escaped before. He cast one last glance around the room—at Judith's prone, snoring form, the partition and the empty cot behind it, and the trapdoor that led to the room of wonders—before departing into the darkness of the hallway beyond.

The halls were silent and deserted as Ty made his way back to his own chamber and study. He divested himself of the cumbersome torch behind a potted plant along the main hall, but didn't feel safe removing the invisibility cloak until after he was in the safety of his own rooms. Closing the door behind him, he pulled the engraved locket from his pocket and placed both it and the scrawled riddle onto his desk for perusal at a more opportune moment. He threw the invisibility cloak over an armchair in the corner of the room, ensuring that a portion of the chair remained visible to avoid maiming himself on it later.

Ty attempted to catch a few hours' worth of sleep before he began his morning routine, but found rest to be profoundly elusive that night. His mind was simply too active and his body still too full of adrenaline as he considered what must still be done in the morning before he could even think about the clues he'd brought back from the night's excursion. Finally, after nearly an hour of tossing and turning, he admitted defeat and rose for the day about an hour and a half before his usual time.

Despite the early hour, several servants were already up and working by the time Ty made his way to the kitchen. He doubted whether it would take long for the usual search to begin for the previous night's suitor, but he also wondered whether anyone would even think to look in the dungeon. After all, few would consider it likely that the princesses would be able to break into such a fortress, even to deposit such a deserving individual. Just in case, Ty pulled aside Gunther, Weston's serving assistant, to drop a few well-considered hints about Luka's whereabouts. After all—he reflected as he watched the young man eagerly set off to "find" the fiend—the sooner Luka could be discovered, the sooner he would be banished per the competition guidelines. And he didn't even bother trying to feign guilt at the thought; the kingdom would be far better off without one Sir Luka tainting the premises. Now that the threat of Luka's success was over, Ty viewed his participation in the contest as the best thing that could have happened in these circumstances.

Content that his role in the Luka debacle was now at an end, Ty made quick work of the remainder of his morning responsibilities. He sifted through mounds of paperwork, dispatched letters of business to ambassadors in Deturus and Elensar, and consulted with the financial advisors about the state of the royal treasury.

His usual lunch meeting with Valeria and Weston was cut short when His Majesty requested Ty's assistance in escorting Sir Luka from the premises. Apparently, the Wallenian native was not taking his punishment lightly. As the only local man to attempt to solve the princess mystery, he was given a week's time to return to his expansive estate and prepare for his removal beyond the Kyorian boundaries. Ty watched as Luka mounted his horse—taking care to stay far away from both beasts—and took note of the mutinous look on the shorter man's face. He hid a smile at the humiliation Luka must be facing, a welcome change from his former arrogance.

_Good riddance_, Ty thought as the galloping horseman disappeared from sight. Putting Sir Luka far from his mind, he turned back to return to the castle.

Throughout the activity of the morning, he was often distracted by the consideration of the mystery that awaited him in his study. At the earliest opportunity, he stole back to his chamber, closing the door firmly behind him to indicate that he preferred not to be disturbed. He opened the curtains to let in the late morning sunlight, settled in his desk chair, and _finally_ allowed himself to pick up the parchment and locket that had so engrossed his attention from his duties.

He examined the locket first, scrutinizing the dirt-encrusted etchings along the front. Though he couldn't see the engraving clearly, its shape struck him as vaguely familiar. No matter how hard he wracked his brain, he couldn't recall where he'd seen it before. He tried valiantly to scrape some of the earth from the surface, but to no avail. He put it aside for the time being until he could soak it in water or something to remove the grime. Setting it aside didn't mean that the secret to its engraving was forgotten, however; the answers seemed to hang in the very back of his mind, as if he could discover them if he only knew how to view them.

But there were other things to consider, for which he would need to reserve his concentration. He unrolled the parchment paper, relieved that the ink had only smudged slightly and in no way detracted from his ability to read the lines. Pulling another piece of paper closer to him, he meticulously began the long process of translating the lines. Sometimes, an unknown word would send him to his expansive bookshelf, where he had accumulated several volumes of translation dictionaries throughout his stint as the royal steward. For the most part, he had little difficulty in deciphering the words on the paper, and, once decoded, the meaning became all too clear.

_A passage made for what you seek_

_Lies far within these walls._

_If left alone, within three days,_

_It won't appear at all._

_The spell will pull you forward,_

_The magic draws you in._

_Unless the danger's recognized,_

_The room will always win._

_And if you venture past this door,_

_Your dearest needs be met,_

_But careful that through all your fun,_

_These rules you don't forget._

_To strangers' eyes this room selects_

_The date it will appear._

_Not a soul will find it_

_But once in seven years._

_When inside, the things you find_

_Within these walls must stay._

_Only those which you bring in_

_May see the light of day._

_A gift we grant your entrance here:_

_A limit never done._

_But exits hence are numbered:_

_Three hundred minus one._

_And though you may be tempted_

_To enter past your end,_

'_Tis certain that there is_

_No way you'll ever leave again._

_So heed this word I've given you,_

_Take heart to what I've said._

_Enjoy your time while you may,_

_But beware, lest you be dead._

The words sent a chill through Ty's entire body. Suddenly, the tantalizing mystery of the materializing trapdoor, the magical chamber, and especially the cave-in that he'd thought were relatively harmless took on newer, more nefarious meanings when viewed in lieu of this warning. _Exits hence are numbered…beware, lest you be dead_.

Imbued with new urgency, Ty determined to take action immediately. The princesses' activities were innocent in themselves, but their "sanctum" would prove to be a tomb if he didn't do something. He hesitated upon reaching the door, however, remembering the enthusiastic look on Eralie's face as she delivered her lines with gusto. Several other scenes ran through his mind's eye, and he saw the additional pictures of Thaleia freely wielding her fencing foil, Callia's exuberance in seeing her story unfold before her eyes, Cliodne expertly stepping into her role as director, and the cooperation of all of the sisters in creating their scene. Most importantly, he recalled the enthusiasm and energy with which they'd performed them, even without an audience. They'd spent months within that chamber, working on a play that they didn't even expect to see the light of day—just because in performing it, they seemed to find freedom in their individuality.

The best that he could figure, the princesses' visits to their sanctum had begun about nine to ten months ago. Of course, this was a rough estimate based on when they had begun sleeping in and the first of the unusual cobbler reports. But the truth of the matter was, his tallies brought them perilously close to the limit outlined by the riddle. They were completely unaware of the danger that they were in, but he couldn't bring himself to end their innocent artistry by reporting their secret directly to King Gustave.

_I'll speak to Princess Eralie_, he determined. He'd long held a great respect for her gentle judgment, and as the eldest princess, she could have influence among her sisters and—if she chose to—speak with her father, as well. He chose not to acknowledge, even to himself, why he decided to speak with Eralie over Cliodne who, after all, was considered the more logical princess.

Fueled by new resolve, Ty yanked open the door to his study, only to stop short. Standing in front of him—a knowing-yet-fearful expression on her wrinkled face—was Rosetta.

"You know," she said simply. It wasn't a question. She slipped past him into his own study, motioning for him to close the door. He complied, though not without a touch of anger.

"I know," he responded forcefully. "But my question is: how do _you_ know? How _did_ you know where the princesses were going? What have you to do with the chamber? How did you know about the danger? And for goodness' sake, why didn't _you_ try to stop it? Why leave it to me?"

"These are not easy questions to answer, but I will try." Without waiting for an invitation, she took a seat in his half-invisible armchair. Ty followed her example, sensing that her explanation would take some time.

Author's Note: So...let me know what you think! I'd also love to hear _your_ ideas of what Rosetta's story might be. It'd be very enlightening to know the thoughts and predictions of my faithful readers. Also, keep reviewing, telling me which of the princesses you'd like to see more of and while you're at it, any obscure fairy tales you'd like to see rewritten.


	17. Suspense Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

Rosetta's story was as difficult to tell as it was to hear.

_Born to an impoverished couple in Uvegia, I had scarcely reached my third birthday when my parents' financial difficulties drove them to sell me as a household slave to a wealthy merchant. I was treated indifferently at best, raised (more or less) among the man's two sons, but I was never allowed to forget my inferiority. Upon the merchant's death when I was fifteen, his business and estate were inherited by the elder brother, whereas I was passed along to the younger. My new master was continually in financial straits; his brother refused to assist his wild actions and eventually disowned his wayward younger brother._

_ Left to his own devices, the desperate man resorted to criminal means to support himself—dragging me down with him into the quagmire of questionable morality. He gathered together a ragtag group of ruffians, whose cruel deeds and criminal actions quickly earned them reputations as the most wanted criminals in the country. They were forced to flee from the prices on their heads, and it wouldn't be the last time._

_ For many years, I was forced into servitude for the band of marauders. They knew that I wouldn't agree to commit any criminal deeds myself, regardless of how they tried to force or threaten me. So instead, I became their unwilling accomplice and "kitchen" servant, in charge of the meals and marketplace reconnaissance excursions. I tried escaping several times, but they always found a way to retrieve me—and their punishments matched their fearsome reputation._

_ Eventually, the marauders made their way into the country of Kyoria, plundering towns and villages along the way. With a reputation as deplorable as theirs, they couldn't afford to stay in one place very long…until they found the perfect hideout._

_ My master stumbled upon it when we were encamped in the forest outside the palace (a place that offered dense protection from even the numerous authorities around the royal residence). The entrance was cleverly concealed in the base of a spruce tree, and he had hoped that it would provide a safe place in which to hide._

_ It turned out to offer much more and much less than he had expected._

_ The passageway led to the familiar, beautiful chamber that the current princesses had turned into their sanctum. Little could Their Majesties guess that, not so very long ago, their place of freedom had housed a band of ne'er-do-wells and one unfortunate slave woman. With its splendor and secrecy, it was the perfect place for their purpose. They set up base camp within the chamber itself, leaving two sentries to guard the only entrance._

"But what about the tunnel that leads to the manor?" Ty interrupted her tale to ask.

"The staircase led to a dead end," Rosetta said simply. "It wasn't time for the trapdoor to appear, so the only way in or out was through the forest passage." She waited for further questions that did not appear before continuing her tale.

_The complete seclusion of their new hideaway allowed the band to stay longer in Kyoria than they'd ever stayed anywhere else. They resumed their former activities of plundering, marauding, and thieving, but made sure to target those homes and markets that were far enough away from the chamber to maintain its secrecy._

_ About ten months after the band moved into their new headquarters, I decided to attempt another escape from my deplorable servitude. Tasked with making almost daily trips to the marketplace for food, supplies, and news, it wasn't difficult to separate from my "chaperone" during one of those excursions and disappear into the crowd. Though my master sent his most ruthless trackers to seek me out, I managed to elude them. For the first time, I believed that I'd managed to escape their clutches forever. _

_But it wasn't so. They didn't want to draw attention to themselves by removing me forcefully from the town, so they lay in wait. I attempted to escape their surveillance by passing through the forest path to Elensar, and it was on this road that my former master's band caught up with me at last._

Rosetta paused, seeming to be overcome with emotion for some reason or another. Ty sat back, allowing her a moment to compose herself.

_They overpowered me quickly and forcefully. I had had a taste of freedom for a day at most, but now I had been subdued and browbeaten once more. One the way back to the camp, however, something far worse happened—something that I would give anything to be able to forget. For though I had lived with thieves and murderers for the majority of my life, I had never before witnessed the true extent of their depravity until now._

_The leader called his men into action upon hearing an approaching carriage. They took their places, hiding in the bushes until the vehicle had come into view. It was bejeweled and ornate, causing the thieves' hearts to beat with greed. They seemed neither to notice nor care that the royal crest was blazoned upon the door._

_The murderous marauders made quick work of the plunder. Trussed up on the forest floor, I could only watch in horror as my master and his men slew every attendant, every guard, and even the tragically beautiful queen herself._

"The memory will haunt me forever," she murmured, gazing at her hands where they lay clenched in her lap. "If I had not tried to escape…if they had not found me on that path at that time, then they wouldn't…_she_ wouldn't…" she trailed off, seemingly unable to go on.

She glanced up at Ty. "Nothing they found in that carriage even came close in value to what they killed." Rosetta turned her attention back to her hands, holding up the object that she'd had tightly clenched in them: the ornate, engraved locket that Ty had been puzzling over merely an hour ago. He glanced back towards the surface of his desk where he'd left the trinket, but it was, obviously, gone. How had she—? But never mind. It wasn't important.

He examined the locket hanging from her fingers. He would never underestimate the power of a laundress again. It was surprisingly clean and pristine, considering its former dirt-caked state, and he was now able to see the familiar etching on the front: a blooming rose atop a spinning wheel. The royal crest of the Sleeping Beauty. He couldn't count the number of times he'd seen this very symbol—even this very locket—in Queen Meleprene's painting hanging in Gustave's chamber.

"I escaped eventually," Rosetta softly continued, drawing Ty's attention back to the washer woman and her story.

_My fervor for freedom increased tenfold after I'd witnessed this senseless tragedy. I spent every spare moment planning opportunities and methods to escape…but it didn't happen when I planned. It was the work of a desperate impulse. Not even a week after Meleprene's death, I received a severe beating that—though not unusual or new in itself—was the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back. In the dead of the night, I stole from the chamber. I knew that I wouldn't be able to slip past the sentries at the front entrance, so I decided to tempt fate by escaping through the back tunnel—notoriously a "dead end."_

_But Fate was kind to me._

"Fourteen years ago, the trapdoor opened for me," Rosetta said humbly. "It gave me my freedom, as it gave the princesses theirs. But you and I have both seen the price it asks. Though I read it nearly a decade ago, I still remember the warning, mercifully written in a language I understood. You cannot imagine my feelings when I realized the danger I had been facing while in and out that chamber for so long."

"But how real is the danger?" Ty asked. "I understand the warning, but is it true?"

"As true as you and me."

_My drive for freedom took me far away. I slipped unseen through the trapdoor, snuck out of the castle, and never looked back…until a year ago. For reasons I couldn't fathom at the time, I felt a desire…no, a _need_ to return to the place where I'd witnessed such horrors and reclaimed my independence. It took some searching in the forest to find the chamber entrance again, but I eventually found the right spruce tree. It was doubtful that the marauders were still there after all those years, but I still entered cautiously. Less than fifty yards down the line, though, my progress down the passage was impeded by a wall of rubble and wooden ceiling beams…and bones. It didn't take much guesswork to figure out that the plaque's warning had taken effect. At least some of my former master's mob had been crushed under the cave-in, preventing their three-hundredth exit._

"And now you can see why I could not follow the princesses myself as soon as I suspected where they were going. I have little idea how many exits I have left, so I could not risk entering that cursed place even once more. I didn't see any other way, so—"

"And so you recruited me," Ty finished, feeling a twinge of sympathetic understanding in the face of Rosetta's obvious distress.

"I had been watching you for some time, as soon as my suspicions began. I could tell you were trustworthy, and that you would do anything to ensure the princesses' safety—one in particular." Ty started at her knowing tone, feeling his face flush suspiciously. With startling speed, Rosetta stood and made her way to the door. Ty scrambled to follow her; he couldn't seem to keep up with her rapid movements, even though he was half her age.

Before exiting, she turned back to face him as she pressed Queen Meleprene's locket into his hands. "Listen: I know what it is to live with regret. My hope is that you won't have to say the same. Do what you have to do."

Even before Rosetta's charge, Ty had already determined to speak with Eralie. The laundress's warning had merely fueled his urgency tenfold. He frantically searched her usual haunts for a sign of the black-haired princess. She wasn't in the library, and under the circumstances he thought it better not to ask Callia (who was holed up in her window nook) for her whereabouts. She had long ago left her bedchamber, and wouldn't be in the dining room for a couple hours yet. Having concretely ascertained that Eralie was absent from the palace itself, Ty retreated to the gardens and the only other place he could think to find her.

King Gustave's royal gardens were among the most beautiful and well-kept in the country of Kyoria. The focal point of the courtyard featured rose bushes surrounding a center pavilion in lines that resembled the spokes of a wheel. In the bright bloom of spring and summer, the sight was incomparable, and even now in the autumn the view had a breathtaking beauty all its own. The pavilion itself was picturesque and quaint, exactly where one would imagine a romantic princess such as Eralie to sit.

But this wasn't her favorite spot.

Ty walked past the rows of late autumn foliage, past the white-washed pavilion, beyond the edges of the picturesque garden into a small nook in the corner of the courtyard. While one could not say that this part of the garden was _neglected_, it certainly wasn't kept in quite the same pristine condition as the rest of the courtyard. And it was here, among the autumn colors, that Ty found Eralie. She was seated on her usual bench, a book lying forgotten on the seat beside her as she gazed at something unseen, apparently deep in thought. She formed quite a fetching picture, lit by the mid-afternoon sun and surrounded by leaves of burnt sienna, mahogany, and amber.

Reluctant to break her reverie, Ty nonetheless cleared his throat to alert her to his presence. She jumped slightly, but could not hide her look of pleasure upon seeing who it was who had distracted her from her daydream.

"Princess, forgive my intrusion, but I have something very important to discuss with you." He winced at how stilted and formal he sounded, but Eralie didn't seem to notice or mind. She moved her book, motioning for him to take the seat next to her. He did so, taking care to keep a careful distance but still angling his body to face her. He debated how best to begin.

"What is it, Ty?"

Her informal use of his name broke through his uncertainty, convincing him that speaking candidly was his best option.

"I know where you and your sisters go at night," he admitted softly yet surely. He heard her gasp—in shock? Anger?—but paid little heed to the small interruption. "And I know what you have been doing, and how you have prevented Sir Luka or any of the other prince contestants from discovering your secret."

"Apparently, we should have put less effort into tricking them, and more into deceiving you," Eralie commented wryly. She turned to face him more fully, and Ty was slightly surprised by the defiance in her eyes. "So what do you think you know?"

"I know that you have been drugging the princes and your chamber maid with some form of sleeping sedative. I know that you have been picking the lock on your bedchamber door to teach each of your suitors the futility of their attempts. I know that Petra stole my spare set of keys…"—Eralie smiled slightly at his attempted humor— "And I know that every night, you pull back your rug and descend into a passageway that brings you to the most fantastic, most magical chamber anyone has ever seen, in which the princesses of Kyoria perform a play of their own invention that is just as mystical as the room in which it was born."

Eralie gazed straight ahead, not meeting Ty's gaze. "It is pointless to deny any of what you've said. I suppose you're going to tell Father?" He wasn't sure what it was that he heard in her voice. It could have been either a note of resentment or anticipation—but he didn't allow himself to dwell on that.

"No."

Her eyes darted towards him, surprise shining from their blue depths. "You aren't?"

"It isn't my secret to tell, Princess. I will leave that up to you." His response reaped a grateful smile that warmed him from the inside out.

She glanced down, paying undue attention to the book that she held. "I suppose you won't tell me how _you_ found out?"

"I would never keep my secret from you, Princess, but there are more pressing matters at hand." Seeing Eralie's confusion, he hastened to answer. "You asked me to tell you what I know. Well, I know one thing more about your activities that you do not, and that is that your midnight trips have put you all in danger."

Eralie jerked away from him. "How can you say that? We are doing nothing wrong, nothing that would endanger us! Our play is purely innocent!"

"That is true enough, except that your play takes place in a room whose magic has killed before." As quickly as he could, he outlined what he'd just learned of Rosetta's story, interspersing her tale with his own discoveries of the plaque's riddle and warning. He chose to leave out her role in the queen's death, however; it had little bearing on the chamber issue, and would only upset Eralie more than she already was. By the end of his account, Eralie's face was as white as the dress she wore, and her hands were shaking slightly.

"You're sure about this?" she clarified.

"As sure as I can be. But I could only venture a guess as to when you discovered the trapdoor."

"It was around the end of January, I believe."

"And you have returned to the chamber every night since?"

"Yes." It took some figuring, but they finally used this information to estimate the number of the princesses' remaining exits from the room. At their closest calculation, they had no more than a few days before they, too, would have been trapped within the passage like the unfortunate marauders.

Naturally, Eralie had to fight panic over this close call, but she maintained her composure in spite of her feelings. Now that she had been apprised of the danger, her first intention was to inform her sisters at once. However, Ty also succeeded in convincing her that her father should also be told; indeed, he argued that had they attempted to speak honestly with their father from the beginning, they could have avoided much of the drama and intrigue.

Eralie wasn't entirely sure she agreed with this, but was willing to concede the point to the man she…to the man who had saved her life as well as the lives of her sisters. However, she wasn't quite so willing to submit to Ty's modesty in refusing to talk to King Gustave himself. Despite her persuasions that he should be able to claim the credit for solving the mystery, he continued to argue that it was the princesses' duty to confess the truth to their father. It would promote honesty and reestablish trust between the royal family—something that was increasingly important after the events of the past year.

"Besides," he added. "I would hate to class myself with those who joined the prince competition to win a bride." He chuckled feebly at his weak attempt at humor. Eralie didn't join in with his amusement, instead focusing her blue eyes on his hazel ones intently. His pretense at mirth fading, Ty caught a glimpse of…_something_…within the depths of her eyes before she looked away again, her cheeks slightly pinker than before.

Feeling that their conversation had entered dangerous ground, he took his leave of the princess to allow her time to consider how best to approach her sisters and father with this delicate issue. As he strolled away from her bench, Ty couldn't help but reflect on Eralie's reaction to his surprising story and his poorly-managed admiration.

He didn't know how to classify it. He didn't know what to call it. All he knew was that Eralie's expression gave him a vague sense of hope that he'd never truly expected to feel from her. Though he wasn't sure whether the look in her eyes was really what he wished it to be, he did recognize that her depth of emotion was a far cry from Eurielle's puppy love.

A/N: And so the truth comes out...almost. Just two more chapters and a prologue to wrap up the loose ends, and this journey is nearly over. Make sure to tell us your reactions to the revelations revealed in this chapter by clicking that wonderful "Review" button. All responses are much appreciated.


	18. Suspense Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

King Gustave, weary and sore after an afternoon's ride around the palace's expansive grounds, settled into his armchair for a much-anticipated hour of restful reading. The volume of choice—_A History of Naval Battles_—had been missing from its library shelf for several weeks before he was able to claim it at last; he didn't know of anyone else in the castle who had such an avid interest in the topic, but he'd also learned not to be surprised by Callia's various readings-of-the-week.

He had not read more than three pages of the book when his peaceful interlude was interrupted by a tentative knock on the study door.

"Come in," he called with a sigh. He rested his book on the arm of the chair, its spine open to the place where he'd left off. It didn't stay there for long, though; it toppled to the floor with a flop when Gustave jerked in surprise upon seeing who had entered his study.

All seven of his daughters filed into the room, with Eralie at the front and Eurielle bringing up the rear. They stood around him in a semi-circle, each regarding their father with matching anxious expressions. Gustave didn't think that his study had ever held so many people at the same time.

"Yes?" he asked, his eyes skimming over the entire line of princesses as he contemplated the meaning behind such an unprecedented visit.

"Father, we have something we need to discuss with you," said Cliodne softly. He waited expectantly for her to continue, his raised brows nearly reaching his hairline.

"Perhaps you should sit down," Eurielle added, then seemed to think better of it, as he was already seated. "Or—never mind…" she trailed off uncomfortably. Silence descended upon the group. His daughters fidgeted and glanced at one other, seeming uncertain about who should speak first. Gustave's impatience increased.

Finally, Eurielle spoke up again.

"There's a magic trapdoor in our bedroom!" Releasing a relieved sigh, Eurielle cast a glance down the line of sisters. "That was easier than I thought it would be."

Gustave was sure that he had heard wrong. "What?"

Eralie stepped forward, breaking the line. "In the floor of our bedroom, we found a trapdoor that leads to a…a passage. A chamber…it's hard to explain. But…that's where we've been going each night, Father."

Thaleia picked up the story. "We haven't been leaving the castle. At least, not that we know of. We haven't been sneaking off to the forest or town or anywhere else. We've just…we found a secret room. And we've been going there."

Gustave pulled together his scattered thoughts and leaned forward in his chair, his brow furrowing in confusion. "But…why?"

Without saying a word, Callia stepped forward and laid a brown paper bundle tied with twine across his knees. Gustave pulled at the twine and the paper fell open, revealing a stack of parchment covered in Callia's neat hand. At the top of the first sheet was written, in elaborate calligraphy, _Diamond in the Rough: A Five-Act Drama_.

Callia shrugged her shoulders and smiled a little. "We finished it last night, so we're not going back."

Petra deadpanned, "Even if we could, we wouldn't."

His sharp gaze darted to the brown-haired princess. "What do you mean by 'even if we could'?"

Cliodne was the one who answered. "The passage is cursed."

Thaleia shrugged this time and waved her hand as though dismissing this monumental pronouncement as of little importance. "Yeah, something about you can enter as many times as you want but exits are kind of limited. And I think we're almost there."

At this, Gustave stood abruptly, dislodging the package from his lap and sending the pages scattering across the floor. Callia knelt and immediately began straightening and reordering the pages with motherly care. Gustave paid her no heed.

"Are you telling me that you have been visiting a cursed room every night for the past eight months?" he asked with terrified anger.

Eurielle addressed her slippers. "Nine and a half, actually."

"You've been endangering your lives for…for _what_? This play?"

Cliodne raised her chin almost defiantly. "In our defense, Father, we didn't know about the curse."

"I don't care whether you knew or not! What I want to known is: why in the world was this worth it? The lies, the sneaking, the secrets, the sleeplessness, if you were just waltzing into danger?"

Callia urgently thrust the stack of parchment, newly straightened, into his hands once again. "Because it's _us_. We've put everything into this."

Gustave had to repress the urge to toss it aside. "And if you had to do this…_thing_—" he spat the word out as though it were something vile, "—why couldn't you have done it without leaving the safety of this castle?"

He was surprised at the ferocity in Eralie's eyes. Indeed, when she looked at him like that, he was reminded forcibly of her mother during one of their spats. "Would you have _let_ us? You, with all your speeches of propriety and ladylike behavior? Would you have let any of us act? Would you have let Callia write? Have you not always disapproved of Cliodne's dominant nature? Or Thaleia's and Petra's less delicate interests? Did you never wonder why we never tried to fit your expectations before? We are not your dolls!"

Raia laid a calming hand on her sister's arm and Eralie fell silent. With a surprisingly gentle voice, Thaleia said, "You ask why we would risk so much. Well, this room and this _thing_, as you called it, provided a place for us to express ourselves and be who we were without facing your constant disappointment in us."

"But then you wanted to take that away from us as well," Eurielle said in a small voice.

Gustave's anger deflated in the light of their impassioned explanation. He slowly sat down again. All too aware of the seven pairs of eyes gazing at him intently, he averted his eyes to stare unseeingly past his daughters. Suddenly, he viewed everything with new consideration. The food fights of old, his daughters' secretive whispers and late morning lie-ins, the prince competition and the fates of its contestants, and even the admitted escape to this chamber of theirs were not actually malicious forms of rebellion, but desperate measures taken in pursuit of their independence and individuality.

Furthermore, he realized anew that their behavior had indeed changed for the better since these last night excursions had begun—a fact that he had been too blind and stubborn to acknowledge before, especially when he believed them to have betrayed his trust. But it had been many months since he'd witnessed even a single pea leave a princesses' plate during mealtime, and they certainly carried themselves with grace and decorum as they stood in front of him at the moment. He glanced at the script in his hand.

_The Diamond in the Rough_. Could it be that this play, this pastime, this opportunity for freedom had finally brought about the change in his daughters that he'd long despaired of? That in acting like beggars, or ruffians, or whatever other characters were in this curious play, they had actually learned to act like princesses, as well? It certainly appeared to be the case. And if it was so, then perhaps it was high time he learned to support his daughters for who they were and encourage them to become who _they_ wanted to be.

Having pondered these ideas for several seconds, Gustave finally spoke again. His voice was humble, a rarity for the sovereign.

"I can see that you feel strongly about this," he said hesitantly. "And I can also see that perhaps I have been a bit more…forceful than I needed to be, and not as encouraging as I should have been. Understand, though, that everything I have done was so I could protect you; but in my methods, it seems my control almost drove you into danger, rather than shielding you from it." He rose again, placing the packet of papers gently on the seat he'd just vacated. He drew closer to his daughters, filling in the remaining side and making a warped circle of royals.

"So let's come to an understanding. I will try to be more lenient, try to give you more freedom in the castle and in your preferred activities. No more locked doors, no more forbidden places or behaviors, and no more reports from chamber maids or housekeepers about your whereabouts or actions." Smiles slowly erupted around the circle, but Gustave held up a cautioning hand as he continued; they might not be so amenable to the next portion of his proposition.

"It will take some time and some getting used to. But in return, all I ask is that each of you try to be more open and honest with me. Come to me if you feel there is a problem, especially if you think it due to an error in my judgment or something I can rectify. I can't honestly say that I would have approved of your activities if you had talked to me before," he glanced behind him at the script on the seat. "But I will try to change that mindset if you promise to be upfront with me in the future. No more secrets, are we agreed?"

Eralie stepped forward once more, her eyes shining with gratitude and acceptance—a far cry from the defiance he'd seen in them previously. "I can live with that, Father." Blinking back tears, she embraced him tightly.

By her actions and consent, she set the precedent for her younger sisters. One by one, Gustave's daughters showed their support and agreement to his reform, each sealing her promise with a hug.

As the last princess stepped out of his arms—punctuated by Petra's whisper: "I promise to be more honest, Father, but you have to trust me that there are certain things you won't want to know"—Gustave wiped the moisture from his eyes. He normally scoffed at such intimate moments like this, but he couldn't help but relish the newfound emotional intimacy in his family, something that they hadn't had for quite some time.

He cleared his throat as he surveyed his daughters. "So, when do I get a chance to see this play of yours?"

His query was met by an onslaught of grins from the semi-circle. "We just need to get some stuff, and we can do it right away!" Thaleia claimed as she dashed from the circle and out the study door, followed closely by Petra.

"We'll meet you in the upstairs sitting room in half an hour, alright?" Raia didn't wait for his answer before she, too, left the room. Within seconds, nearly all of the princesses had scurried away, leaving Gustave alone in the room save for Eralie.

Befuddled and feeling as though he'd been caught in a maelstrom, he shifted his attention from the door to the lone remaining princess, who was regarding him with a bemused expression. He could only imagine what the expression on his own face looked like. He half expected her to join her sisters in gathering up whatever materials they needed to create a complete theatrical experience, but she showed little evidence of departing.

"Father, I have another confession to make."

Gustave resisted the urge to groan. "Please, Eralie, don't tell me that you've found a fairy godmother or a magic mirror or a flying pumpkin; I don't know how much more I can take at this point."

"Not quite, sir," she said with a smile. "It's just…we didn't come to you today entirely of our own accord. And we didn't discover the truth of the curse on our own; for that, we have Sir Bionne to thank."

"Sir Bionne?" For the second time that night, Gustave's eyebrows shot up his forehead in surprise. "And how would he come to learn of this?"

"I don't know how he found out about the passage or even the curse, but he spoke with me earlier today. He told me that he felt compelled to solve the mystery and, by telling us about the danger, he saved our lives. He refused to come to you personally, however, and take the credit or claim a reward; he felt that it was our responsibility to present the truth to you. I just thought that you would wish to know." She curtsied formally, then took her leave as well, leaving Gustave in deep contemplation of his thoughts and actions. He had little time to waste in reflection, however, as he had to respond quickly to this newest piece of information before his daughters' performance.

_So much for a restful half-hour beforehand_, he groused, then called for a servant to fetch Sir Bionne to his study. He paced its length, his mind actively dwelling on the fantastic story that he'd heard in this very room within the past hour. Fortunately, he was not left alone with his thoughts for too long, as Sir Bionne (efficient as always) took little time in responding to his summons.

The knock on the door preceded the steward's entry. He didn't attempt to mask the comprehension on his face; he had clearly ascertained the reason for his visit. Taking his cue from this, Gustave chose to bypass the usual introductory formalities, instead jumping straight to his point.

"Sir Bionne, I understand that I owe you a debt of gratitude."

He seemed about to deny this claim, but Gustave forestalled him. "Eralie told me about your role in protecting my daughters from harm. I would greatly appreciate if you could explain how you were able to accomplish this."

Sir Bionne seemed to hesitate for a moment, then said simply: "I was given reason for concern about the princesses' welfare shortly before Sir Luka entered the competition—"

"Who told you of this concern?"

"Forgive me, sir, but for reasons of their own, my source would prefer to remain anonymous. Suffice it to say that this person warned me that the princesses were in danger, and they provided me with the means to discover their actions without being detected: an invisibility cloak." Gustave chose not to comment on this extraordinary remark, instead allowing Sir Bionne to finish his summary without interruption.

"Thus hidden, I waited in the princesses' chamber (separated by the partition, of course) and followed them when they retreated down the passage." Briefly, Ty outlined everything he had seen and discovered while in the chamber, even those details of which the princesses had informed Gustave themselves. The steward ended his story by explaining how he had translated the riddle, discovered the warning of the curse, and decided to bring his findings to Eralie.

"I apologize, Your Majesty, if you feel that I erred in this respect. Perhaps I should have presented the information to you first—"

"On the contrary," Gustave assured him. "I admire the way you handled this. You not only solved the mystery, but you also got at the heart of the problem by encouraging my daughters to come to me themselves. You have saved them, and by doing so, you have saved me. For that, I think it only fitting that you should claim your reward for winning the prince competition, even if you did not officially enter." Gustave, expecting Sir Bionne to express gratitude at this mode of generosity, was surprised to see a look of alarm cross the younger man's face.

"Sir, with all due respect, I would prefer to abstain from claiming such a reward. My only motivation throughout this was to ensure the protection of the princesses, and I am glad to have succeeded thus. As for accepting the prize of your daughter's hand…I would not wish to give offense, but I believe that this is one prize that neither you nor any other man is able to give. Therefore, I do not feel capable in receiving it." Gustave could have easily felt the insult of this slight rebuke, but Sir Bionne spoke with such respect and deference that he could not help but admire the man for his forbearance and courage in speaking his mind.

"Very well, then. If you waive your right to this reward, then just allow me to thank you once again for the deed that you have done for my family." Gustave bowed deeply, honoring the younger man and receiving the tribute in return.

"That is all the reward I need, Your Majesty."

With that, Sir Bionne courteously departed from the room, his shoulders straight and his head held high—the very picture of nobility.


	19. Suspense Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

The first couple nights after their agreement were difficult. Though they knew the danger of the curse, the princesses still felt the ever-present pull of the trapdoor. They found themselves yearning to disappear into their hidden room, even though its sanctuary was no longer needed. It took great self-possession to resist opening it once more.

And then suddenly, on the third night, the feelings disappeared. Eralie sensed none of the anxiety that had emerged immediately after separating herself from the cursed magic. Her heart felt lighter, as though a heavy weight had been lifted. A short discussion with her sisters revealed that they, too, had felt the change. In a moment of curiosity, Eurielle peeked under the rug, only to inform her sisters that all evidence of the trapdoor had vanished completely. The floorboards had merged together seamlessly once more, as if it had never been there at all.

"I can't believe it's over," said Callia. It was not the first time one of the princesses had expressed this sentiment since the trapdoor had disappeared the night before. Eralie, who had been immersed in her own thoughts, returned to the present reality only long enough to respond with a noncommittal "Mmhmmm…" before falling prey to her own reflections once more, which were interspersed between romantic daydreams and doubts about…someone.

Reclining relaxed on her bed, Callia looked up from the journal that she'd been reading when she'd made the offhand comment. She clearly wasn't altogether satisfied with Eralie's distraction, because she attempted once again to engage her in conversation.

"You know, Eralie, I've started a new story now that we've finished _Diamond_."

She had picked her new topic well. With her love of drama and romance, Eralie had always been intensely interested in her younger sister's creative endeavors, even more so than their other sisters. There was little else that could have distracted her so completely, and she welcomed the opportunity to dwell on something other than her personal anxieties.

"Really? Do I hear the making of another drama?" Eralie asked eagerly, angling her chair away from the window to face her sister more fully. Callia closed her journal, seeming to ponder the question.

"Nooo…no, I don't think it would make a good drama. Not for us anyway. It'll be a real romance this time, and I think that would probably be a little too uncomfortable even for Thaleia to tackle as the hero." She and Eralie exchanged amused smiles at the very thought.

"So, what is it about then?"

"Well, the main characters have known each other for years, and they've loved each other from afar for about as long. But neither of them knows how the other feels. But I think what I'll be doing with the story is taking it from the girl's point of view, and making it seem like her feelings are entirely unrequited, so that not even the reader will know whether he loves her in return. That way, I'm hoping that I can pull off a measure of uncertainty and hopelessness."

"And how does it end?" Eralie asked, not entirely sure whether she liked the idea of a story that spoke of hopeless love. "Do they have a happily ever after?"

"You tell me."

Callia shot her a knowing, commanding look, then gathered up her journal and hid behind it, burying her nose in its pages once more. Eralie stared at the cover of her book for several seconds, her mind frantically trying to catch up with her thumping heart as she processed the meaning of her sister's hints. She felt an urgent desire to be alone to gather her thoughts, and almost hoped that Callia would leave, but she showed little inclination to do so. It would be up to her to seek solitude, and she knew where to find it.

With a serenity that belied the turmoil within, Eralie exited her bedchamber. She was relieved that she met no one else in the halls on the way to her garden nook—no one but Petra, that is, who seemed as unwilling to be noticed by her as Eralie herself could wish. She slipped into the gardens and past the picturesque pavilion, relishing the feel of the breeze on her flushed skin. Within a matter of moments, she was seated on her favorite garden bench, secluded and hidden from the view of anyone who might be passing by.

She was breathing harder than normal, though not from exertion. Her shortness of breath was rather due to the panic that filled her chest at the thought of verbally confessing the feelings that she'd held hidden for so long—ever since she'd first laid eyes on the son of her father's former steward at the age of seventeen. Her instant attraction, though based on a mere crush and her romantic inclinations, had deepened over the last five years into something much more real. By the time Sir Bionne succeeded his father as head steward, she had developed a profound respect and admiration for his character to complement her love for the man himself. But though he was always kind, she had never perceived anything other than courtesy in his treatment of her. She had assumed that, were he to know of her feelings, he would regard them as only a passing fancy, much like Eurielle's blatant puppy-love.

And so she concealed her affection as best she could from the object of it, and silently nursed her heartache. The secret chamber, while providing a respite from King Gustave's strict rules for her sisters, had had another claim on her interest in offering a balm for her disappointed hopes. In acting out the life of another, she was able to forget her pain for the first time in years, if only for the fleeting moment of a night. Therefore, it was only natural that her heartache had increased twofold when her way of escape had ended.

But if Callia's observations could be trusted—for her hints were thinly veiled—Eralie had possibly been mistaken in her belief of his indifference.

"Your Highness?"

At first she thought the sound of Ty's voice was just the remnant of a daydream. Then slowly her eyes focused, and there he stood in front of her, hands formally clasped behind his back.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Princess, but His Majesty has been waylaid in his afternoon ride, and requested that I inform you that the dinner hour will be delayed as well."

Eralie's 'thank you' was barely audible. Ty's brow furrowed in concern, as if reading something into her expression.

"Are you well, milady?" he asked, approaching a little.

She smiled a little. "Yes, I'm quite well. I've just been thinking about…" she gazed into his eyes and lost her nerve at the last moment, "…the sanctum. You still haven't explained how you found us out."

He quirked a smile. "There's not much to tell." Sitting beside her on the bench, he said, "The truth is, Princess, I was in the room on the night Sir Luka entered the contest. I had been given an…item which allowed me to escape your notice."

"An invisibility cloak, I presume?" She met Ty's surprised gaze. "Sir Bionne, my sisters and I were under the enchantment of a cursed passageway. At this point, nothing surprises me."

He nodded. "So I simply followed you."

"Eurielle mentioned that she thought she heard footsteps." Eralie suddenly remembered. "That was you!"

"And you know the rest," he ended anticlimactically. He was apparently not as gifted at storytelling as Callia.

He stood to take his leave. Eralie, struck by a sudden thought, stood as well, stopping his departure with a hand on his arm. He stopped short, and Eralie could have sworn she felt a tremor run through him. "Ty…Sir Bionne! One last question. I told Father myself of your involvement, and I know he offered you what he'd promised as prize to the one who discovered our secret. Why didn't you accept it? You would have made an excellent king, and gained the hand of a princess."

"I could not take something that should be freely given." Ty spoke with quiet resolve, an unreadable emotion flickering across his face for the briefest of seconds.

Eralie drew a deep, ragged breath. The wording of his response sent a spark of hope to her heart. "And if it should be given?"

He startled, then stepped closer to her. Hazel eyes searched blue intently. Reading the unspoken response in the depths of her gaze, Ty provided a wordless answer of his own. With a gentle touch, he tilted her chin and caressed her lips with the lightest of kisses. Pulling away slightly, he answered, "Then, and only then, would I accept."

Eralie's eyes shone as she closed the distance between them once more.

A/N: And there you have it! The final chapter, and ending, the resolution, whatever you want to call it. We wanted to keep it simple. We still have an epilogue to post so there's a little more to follow, but make sure to post your reactions to this last chapter and to the story overall; we love them so much! And thank you for staying with us through this quest!


	20. Epilogue

Epilogue:

Less than six months earlier, news of the mystery of the Kyorian princesses had spread through the countryside like wildfire. If possible, the rumor of its resolution spread even faster, followed soon afterwards by the official pronouncement of a royal wedding.

For those who heard of the forthcoming union between Princess Eralie, the eldest princess and heir to the throne of Kyoria, and Sir Typharius Bionne, her father's head steward, many assumed (rightly) that the arrangement had come about as a result of the prince competition. Indeed, the differences in their social positions—while not insurmountable—would have raised questions about the match if dissenters were not convinced that he were being rewarded for saving the princesses. Little did they know how wrong they were.

For if ever a union was based on love, theirs was it.

And of the few who understood and accepted their marriage for what it was, Eralie's father and sisters were among the most excited. Indeed, Gustave gave his hearty assent when Eralie and Ty applied to him for his approval of the union. After the utter debacle of the prince competition and meeting the Prince Tavles and Ambassadors Glyndwrs who had entered (and feeling utterly panicked at the prospect of one of them succeeding to the kingdom), the king had come to recognize the value of having a son-in-law he could both respect and trust. Gustave knew of no other man whose judgment he held in such esteem as his former steward, and found it most desirable to make the man a part of his family.

As for her sisters, Eralie found that few of them were surprised by her engagement. They had long ago surmised her feelings for Ty, and had even suspected his reciprocal sentiments. Unbeknownst to her, their relationship had been the subject of much discussion between the sisters when she wasn't around, and it had even fostered a bet between Petra and Thaleia as to when it would happen. The only princess who seemed even remotely surprised was Eurielle, who had rather chosen to deny the signs of their attraction because she wished to retain her crush on the steward. After an hour's upset, though, the youngest princess had completely recovered from her disappointed puppy love and was perfectly willing to accept her new brother-in-law.

The wedding day dawned rather grey and drizzly, but the weather cleared up adequately before the afternoon ceremony. The princess and her groom invited not only the obligatory royals and nobles, but they also extended an open invitation to their less affluent subjects—an action that greatly endeared them as the future monarchs.

Though the chapel was full to capacity, the ceremony itself was simple and understated. Eralie was attended by all of her sisters, but only Cliodne, as maid of honor, was attended by Weston as best man. The remainder of the princesses—left without escorts due to the shortage of male attendants—trailed down the aisle in order of age from youngest to oldest, each clad in a floor-length gown of cerulean blue and carrying a bouquet of white lilies. Even Thaleia, ever the tomboy, expressed her willingness to embrace her femininity at last and to appear at her best for her older sister's special day.

The crowd shared a collective gasp when the bride herself made her appearance, a picture of elegant simplicity. Her eyes shone with unbridled joy and her smile was incandescent as she clutched her father's arm with emotional excitement. Gustave blinked against the moisture in his eyes as he escorted Eralie down the aisle to meet her groom. On this, her wedding day, she was the picture of her mother, and he was confident that she would be as happy with the man she'd chosen as her parents had been in their own marriage.

As Eralie and her husband pledged themselves to one another for better or for worse, the king felt oddly thankful for the disastrous circumstance that had engendered such happiness. His initial anger and mystification about his daughters' perceived betrayal had disappeared completely now that the danger was over, and especially after he'd recognized the deficiency of his role in the situation. But though the danger was virtually nonexistent with the trapdoor's disappearance, he'd not forgotten his resolve to reform his overprotective treatment of his daughters.

Gustave's plans for change started on a small scale. To begin with, he removed the restrictions on his daughters' mobility; no longer were they locked into their room at night or forbidden to leave the palace and its grounds. Furthermore, he actively attempted to approve the princesses' activities—or at least feigned the appearance of approbation, a feat that he found more difficult in some respects than others. It wasn't long, however, before he came to value his daughters' enjoyment over the perceived impropriety of their activities.

Though King Gustave reduced his protection in some respects, some of his other reforms included a heightened sense of control, particularly as he began to pay more attention to local affairs and the arts—and they took longer to put into action. He even sought out other ways to promote their interests: music lessons, artistic patronage, tournaments, and others. Not long after welcoming his new son-in-law into the family, the king broke ground on a new children's theater in the city square, taking inspiration from his daughters' theatrical passion and giving them a venue to use it. After a while, he came to relish the joy that his reforms brought to his daughters, and his rule was made all the better because of it.

The princesses of Kyoria certainly benefited from his reforms, relishing in the freedom that allowed them to blossom into their own. They greatly admired their father's newly expressed patronage of the arts, and many of them volunteered and provided assistance at the established theater, in addition to the variety of other activities that they were now permitted to become involved in.

Eurielle's penchant for music had been acknowledged and allowed for quite some time before the sanctum had ever been discovered. It wasn't until King Gustave personally witnessed her performance in their own production that he recognized her true potential and the excellence she could achieve if her gift was encouraged. Fully prepared to supply such support, he hired a local musician to provide Eurielle with music lessons twice a week. She enthusiastically applied herself to learning, and spent much of her off-hours practicing in any spare room she could find. Petra had already threatened her with bodily harm if she heard one more note of Eurielle's "shrieking and wailing"—so it seemed as though not everyone truly appreciated her fervor for her music, which was increasing with each new lesson. Eralie was of the opinion, though, that Eurielle's enthusiasm was helped in part by the attractiveness of her music teacher, a young man by the name of Guillaume. The youngest princess certainly seemed to talk about him a great deal, and Eralie suspected that her young affection had been successfully transferred to him.

Unlike Eurielle, Petra's activities had never quite received complete approbation from their father. His approval stopped just short of criminal activity, and he seemed only relieved that she hadn't yet resorted to stealing from anyone other than her own family. Gustave had a harder time accepting her behavior when—after reading about the philanthropic thievery of Robin Hood—she began dispersing her own "acquired" goods among the less fortunate, insisting that her purpose was to steal from the rich to give to the poor, even when the rich was her own family. The king couldn't see how the random dinner roll and doorknob could be very beneficial to someone in need, and eventually Petra seemed to realize the same. With her father's support and her sisters' occasional assistance, she finally found her rather surprising niche through participation in community service projects and providing more useful donations (acquired through honest means) to the needy.

Though her interests had been only slightly limited by the strictures of her father, Raia's newfound freedom allowed her artwork to evolve above and beyond mashed potato sculptures and edible arrangements. Her gift to the married couple for Eralie and Ty's wedding—a painted portrait of them in their garden spot—was hung in the castle and became her first exhibited artwork. Others soon followed, until the walls of the palace were strewn with her work for them and any visitors to admire. Even more than her painting, however, she found further venues for creativity through her volunteer work at the theater. She merely transferred her experience in her sisters' production to the local site through her work in costume and set design, and eventually became almost indispensible as the artistic director for the company. She especially enjoyed the opportunity to use her painting skills for set construction and production—something she hadn't needed to do previously because of the mosaic scene in the sanctum. Along with the respect and admiration that she reaped for her creative abilities, the redhead was also the object of fear for her tendency to lose her temper when her artistic masterpieces were disrupted in any way.

Since her feminine debut at her older sister's wedding, Thaleia had begun to take a more conscious effort with her appearance. She had by no means entirely relinquished her tomboyish ways and interests, but it was now much more likely to find her embracing her feminine side—or at the very least, it was more common for her to actually brush her hair after fencing and smooth her dress before reporting to dinner. Perhaps the biggest change that had taken place in Thaleia, however, was more clearly manifested in her role in the newest theatrical productions. No longer was she cast as Callia's hero, but had instead filled Eralie's old role as the leading lady. Indeed, she brought an aura of strength to the heroine that the playwright found indelibly appealing for her plotline.

As for the writer herself, Callia had received untold confidence with the success of _Diamond in the Rough_, after she submitted a prose form to the local newspaper. The difference with this publication, however, was that she submitted this—the first of many—under her rightful name. The success of this story gave birth to other publications in the paper, just as it spawned further theatrical productions in the theater. She had recently contemplated beginning writing a novel of the princesses' own adventures…but wasn't sure whether the story could ever be adequately told.

Cliodne's leadership abilities had granted her a natural job in overseeing the construction and birth of the theater—and her father was so impressed with her capabilities in handling this task that he delegated her others more important. The princesses' near-miss with the sanctum warning had impressed upon her the great importance in learning languages other than her own. She undertook training in several tongues, including Kellash, Chetwinese, and Auch, and her quick grasp of these languages led Gustave to appoint her as a Kyorian ambassador to the corresponding nations. He was slightly doubtful about abruptly throwing her into such a large responsibility, but her quick thinking, diplomatic understanding, and keen intelligence soon proved her to be most capable.

Unbeknownst to the newlyweds themselves, Gustave planned to abdicate the throne as soon as he felt they had been adequately prepared. For quite some time, he had been subtly increasing their responsibilities in preparation for their succession, though he remained ever careful not to overwhelm either. Ty—now known as Prince Typharius to his subjects—retained many of his duties as steward in addition to acquiring international responsibilities. Princess Eralie, on the other hand, had little interest in the responsibilities abroad, and instead devoted herself to local issues. She endeared herself to her countrymen with her gentle, generous nature, and became known for her wisdom in settling disputes to the satisfaction of each party. With his knowledge of state matters and foreign affairs and her innate sense of justice, Gustave held full confidence in their abilities to reign as wise and gracious rulers.

The future for Prince Ty and Princess Eralie held more than the promise of crowns and thrones. Something even more precious rested on the horizon, something that everyone in the palace viewed with great anticipation and joy, particularly among the six aunts-to-be. The seven princesses of Kyoria were nothing if not thrilled at the prospect of a newborn royal to care for and spoil—an event that would sure to mark the beginning of untold new tales and adventures.

And so, though it is a phrase that by no means truly describes the felicity that Ty and Eralie enjoyed during their marriage and beyond, the pleasure that the Kyorian princesses received through their independence and freedom, and the peace that reigned through the kingdom of Kyoria under their rule, this story must end as all fairy tales do:

And they all lived happily ever after.

A/N And there you have it! Thank you so much for sticking with the story until the end, and thanks to everyone who reviewed! Keep an eye on our profile page for any updates, as we are currently planning a sequel for the princesses!


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